arriviste
by faithsette
Summary: 'This is ridiculous. This is absolutely ridiculous and she can't believe she's about to agree to it.' Dancing with the Stars AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : The concept for this little story was inspired by one I remember reading a few years ago, and I thought it'd be fun to have a go at inserting our favorite duo into similar situations. This'll be 6 chapters plus a (likely) epilogue. Hope you guys enjoy the ride.

* * *

 _Ar_ • _ri_ • _viste (n.)_ — _an ambitious or ruthlessly self-seeking person, especially one who has recently acquired wealth or social status_

* * *

Newspapers with her face on the front page, gold medal clutched in her hands, find their way into every storefront in Europe. _Olympic Upset_ , headlines read. _Rigged?_ , it says beneath her name, a question mark as if that downplays the obvious opinions dripping from their words.

The stories will no doubt soon make their way onto the front pages of US newspapers.

 _Arriviste_ , they write, completely disregarding upwards of two decades of hard work, the blood, sweat and tears she's poured into her discipline. Their suspicions, no doubt, stem from her dethroning of their homegrown Olympic champion.

She couldn't possibly have risen in ranks so quickly; she must've lied, cheated, slept her way to the gold. _Quickly_ , they say, as if she hasn't been training for this win since she was four years old.

Crude as they may be, she doesn't let the conspiracies get under her skin. It's what they want; they want her to break under the scrutiny, and she won't give them that satisfaction. She knows the truth, knows what she's gone through to get to this point in her career. Let the press, the public, the federation believe what they want.

The only people she reaches out to are her parents. They won't buy into any of their lies, of course, but they don't need to be reading them either.

"Don't read the papers," she tells her father firmly. "Tell Mom, too. If anything happens I'll let you guys know myself, all right?"

"Is everything okay, Katie?"

"Everything's great, Dad, just please ignore the press."

She's won gold, claimed it for the United States in her category for the first time in over a decade. Everything's perfect.

So she rises above the negativity and with a calculated, challenging smile, Kate Beckett clutches the shiny medal around her neck. She stands with the silver and bronze medalists, each turning their heads in practiced manners to let the photographers get their shots. Cameras flash, the white lights threatenening to blind her, but she doesn't flinch.

The newspapers are ruthless.

But she can be too.

* * *

A few days after she lands back on American soil, she finally turns her alarms off and allows herself a day of sleeping in. Of course, for Kate, sleeping in means 8:30 instead of the usual 5am she'd get up to train.

Her time is generally split between New York and California, her training keeping her on the West Coast a few months of the year. Seven days a week, an average of thirteen hours a day, is enough to exhaust even the hardest working athletes.

Sometime just after seven her phone goes off, the shrill ringing breaking her from what was, for the first time in too long, a peaceful sleep.

She lets out an audible groan as she reaches over, presses the offending object to her ear. "What."

"Hello to you too," her manager, Paige, muses in her ear. Her eyes are still closed.

"I'm sorry—hello, what," she amends on a sigh.

"Got an interesting call this morning," she's told, and the silence tells her Paige is expecting her to inquire about it, but Kate doesn't bother. She merely burrows herself deeper into her comforter and waits her manager out. It only takes a minute. " _Dancing with the Stars_."

Her brows wrinkle. "Okay."

"They called."

"They called you?"

Paige pauses. "Are you awake?"

Kate offers a hum in response. "More awake than I planned to be at seven o'clock today."

"Remind me to apologize later, but this is something you'll want to hear right now."

"Then cut to the chase before I hang up and go back to sleep."

"They want you, Kate." That gets her to open her eyes, roll onto her back. "For the next season."

"Me? They expect me to go on that show and dance on live television?" Kate asks incredulously. "Well that's a new one. I hope you told them thank you, but no." At Paige's silence, she sighs. "You said yes, didn't you."

"No, of course not. Not without your permission."

Kate considers her. "But you didn't say no either."

"No."

"And why not?"

Paige chuckles, but Kate doesn't see the humor in the situation. " _Because_ , Kate, you should consider it. It's a popular show, millions watch each week, and it'd be some good press. Not to mention the pay's good."

"Those are all lovely points, but you do realize these shows rely on _votes_ , right? Public votes. And last I checked, the public doesn't seem to be too pleased with me. 'Kate Beckett, ice queen, slept her way to the top, didn't deserve gold'."

"Kate, please, that's not true," Paige tries. It's simple placation, but she has to give the woman an A for effort. "Besides, if you're so worried about the public's perception that's even more reason to do it. Any press is good press, right? Let America see the softer side of Kate Beckett."

Stretching her legs, she points her toes into the mattress, lets her eyes fall closed.

She shouldn't even be considering this.

She has far more important things to be focusing on: the post-Olympic interviews and talk shows she'll have to make her way through, other odd appearances to show off her medal and talk reactions, brand deals. On top of that, Worlds is coming up, and she could go right back out and win another medal.

At least that's something she _knows_ she's good at, something she can do.

 _Stars on Ice_ is right around the corner, too, and she'll have to be in top shape—a medalist going out and faltering so soon after a win is bad, _ten fold_ when that medalist is her, who's already being heavily criticized. If she were to go and flounder out on the ice, it'd only be proving to the naysayers that she somehow rigged her programs.

Validating them is not on her to-do list.

But...

Any press is good press, as they say, and well—she _could_ use some good press.

Kate scoffs. "What soft side? Cold as ice, Paige."

Her manager simply laughs. "Play into it all you want, honey, but I'm not buying."

"Everyone else is."

"So change their minds." There's a brief silence, and she can't believe she's moments away from accepting. "Execs say they already have the perfect partner picked for you."

"Who is it?" she asks, racking her brain to remember any of the professionals. She doesn't actually watch the show; her limited knowledge comes from bits and pieces she hears within the skating circles. A few of the professional dancers tend to come in and choreograph for some of the skaters. "Derek Hough? Or one of the brothers? Italian or something, were they?"

"Russian, and no on both accounts. Richard Castle." The name doesn't ring a bell. "It's his second season as pro, got knocked out after the first week last time."

She huffs. "Sounds promising."

"No one gets a ringer their first season, Kate. They assure me that he'd be perfect for you. Said they really think he could go all the way with the right partner—that'd be you."

This is ridiculous.

This is absolutely ridiculous and she can't believe she's about to agree to it.

* * *

Richard Castle is somehow nothing and everything she was expecting.

She had, of course, looked him up beforehand, wanted to at least see what she was dealing with. The small screen of her tablet didn't do him justice. He's tall, hair brown and a little unruly in the most styled way possible, and eyes a piercing blue. His smile is bright, and there's a genuine upturn of his lips when he greets her in the rink.

Apparently they record the pairs' first meetings on the celebrity's home turf, so for her, naturally, it's on the ice.

His handshake is firm, his palm soft against hers. "Rick Castle."

"Kate Beckett," she introduces herself.

Watching his reaction, she can't tell whether or not he knows who she is. It doesn't take a genius to deduct that she's a skater—the rink's _kind_ of a dead give away—and her face has been plastered all over the place for the past month, but she's curious. The producers and professionals alike swear up and down that they genuinely don't know who their partners are until they meet them, but she wonders if that's actually true. Some of them must have _some_ idea.

"Looks like I've hit the jackpot this season," he says happily, eyes locked on hers.

The camera men inch closer. They zoom in to capture her reaction, but she's no stranger to the attention; she's been in front of enough cameras to know how to keep herself in check. They don't intimidate her. No, if anything they motivate her to perfection.

She hums. "You haven't even seen me dance. I could be horrible."

"I don't have to. I've seen you skate," he returns, and she supposes she has the answer to her question. "You have this really nice ferocity while remaining graceful—that'll definitely work to our advantage. And, well, you have rhythm."

He tacks on the end comment with no malice, though she can presume it's directed at his first partner. No rhythm would be an understatement for the poor girl. She'd looked up videos after she agreed, after Paige confirmed he would actually be her partner. She wanted to get a feel for his dancing, see how he moved, and she stumbled upon his first and only week of competition.

It was... sad, really. Painful to watch.

Kate bites at the inside of her cheek. "Well, thank you. Hopefully I'm as graceful on the dance floor as I am on the ice."

"I don't think we'll have a problem with that."

Her cheeks flush a light tinge of pink, not enough to be picked up by the cameras but enough to have her feeling the heat rush to her skin.

"I have a good feeling about this season, Kate Beckett," he grins, extending his hand. "You ready to tango?"

It's too late to turn back now.

Sliding her palm in his, she gives a curt nod. "Let's do this."


	2. Chapter 2

She's frustrated.

Ballroom dancing is nothing at all like figure skating and it isn't coming to her as easily as she thought it would. She has a ballet foundation, still takes the occasional class to keep up on the techniques that prove tremendously beneficial to her skating, but this is something else.

She's not used to getting _stuck_.

"Hey, take a breath," Rick tells her, palm pressed against her lower back as he pulls her gently from a turn. "It's only been two days. Nobody expects you to have it down already."

"I do," is her immediate response.

She learns new routines in a day, she can learn a ninety second dance. The principle is the same, requires her to count to the music to keep on time. It's how she follows the music for her own programs, but for some reason it's not carrying over.

She misses the ice, the breeze flowing through her hair as she picks up speed. She feels heavy, feet rooted to the floor; there's no gliding here, no graceful slide of her blade into ice.

"And that's the problem." He releases her only for a second before he stands in front of her, grabs both of her hands in his. "You're a perfectionist; I can see it in your face, the way you grind your teeth when you miss a step, the way you have to fight to steady your breathing to stop from getting angry with yourself. I get it."

Kate puffs out a breath, blows a rogue curl from where it's fallen into her face.

"I do. I may be loose now, but I wasn't always. Competitive ballroom does that to you—winds you up, makes you focus to perfect every movement, every pointed toe, because if you don't, you don't win."

"How'd you get here then?"

"With help." Rick smiles. "From other professionals, from friends who told me that I'd run myself into the ground at the rate I was going," he tells her.

She doesn't think there's anything wrong with being a perfectionist. Like he said: you don't perfect, you don't win. She wouldn't have won gold if she'd done any less than she had. But still, she listens.

"So with some work, some time, I loosened up. You can too."

Doubtful, but she's aware of the cameras currently zooming in on her like sharks, and so she smiles back.

"Let's try again?"

His hand reaches for hers once more and with a deep breath, a slow nod, she accepts and lets him pull her into the center of the room.

Craning her neck to peer around him, she eyes the lone chair pushed off to the side. "What's that for?" she asks, nodding towards it.

It's deliberately placed, as if waiting to be used.

"We're going to try something," he hedges, releasing his grip on her to drag the chair over. "I was going to wait until tomorrow, but maybe a change of pace will be good for you. We've been working on the same sections for a while."

"Okay," she draws out the word.

He places the chair between them, put a his hand on his hip, and explains what he plans on adding to their routine.

"You want me to... stand on that chair, in my heels, with one hand around your neck and the other clasped in yours, and then... let you lean my body down until I'm parallel to the floor?"

"Pretty much." He nods. "I wouldn't even consider trying it with any other partner, let alone on week one, but because of the core strength you already have from your skating I think it'd really work."

"Won't the chair slide with my weight pushing on it like that?"

"Not if we do it correctly, no."

"And if we don't?"

He gives her a smile. "We will."

Tossing away what seems to be the last bit of her sanity, she offers a small laugh and allows him to help her onto the chair.

* * *

Premiere night comes far too soon for her liking. The dimming of the lights has her stomach doing somersaults, reminiscent of back when she was a novice skater, waiting in the wings to perform her first program.

She stands far off to the side of the stage, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watches the current couple receive their scores.

6, 6, 6, 7.

They don't appear to be too upset about the outcome and it confuses her. Six out of ten is nowhere near a desirable score.

"Hey." She startles, twists around to find Rick standing behind her. "Don't psych yourself out."

"I'm not," she protests, eyes darting to the floor.

It's not the whole truth, but it's not an outright lie either. She doesn't get nervous before competitions anymore; all of her anxiety transforms into adrenaline the second she steps foot on the ice, but this is different. It's uncharted waters and she's a buoy out here.

"You are," he counters, taking her face in his hands. "Listen to me. _Breathe_. You're going to be phenomenal. You know this dance by heart—you could do it in your sleep, Kate."

"Right."

The couple before them finishes and they're ushered onto the floor, told to stand in front of the orchestra while their package plays. It shows their first meeting, clips from their rehearsal footage, and Kate cringes at the chosen snippets of her faltering.

Lowering his voice to a whisper before their music starts, Rick brings his lips just shy of her ear. His voice is hot against her skin.

"Just have fun."

Carrie Ann calls them stunning. Len makes a comment about the content of the tango itself but says they're a couple to watch. Julianne praises her on her lines and her ability to carry the movements through beautifully. Bruno stands up, slams on the table and calls them hot, fans himself.

Their feedback brings a blush to her cheeks, Bruno's in particular, and she dips her head, the curtain of her hair falling in her face. She feels Rick place a grounding hand between her shoulder blades.

"You did it," he breathes into her hair as he pulls her into a hug.

With two nines, an eight and a seven (from Len, who holds up his paddle with an _I'm not worried about you two_ ), unprecedented scores for a week one dance, they find themselves at the top of the leader board.

* * *

They get rumba for week two. It's all about sensuality, Rick tells her, about evoking the right emotions.

This, she learns, means close proximity and lots of it. The rolling of their hips, the romantic music and movements to match, the love they must act out in their facials in order to really tie the routine together.

When his hands wrap around her, thumbs pressing into the bones of her hips through the fabric of her leggings, her breath catches in her throat.

"You need to loosen up," he tells her, thrumming his fingers against protruding bones. It's the same criticism he gave her last week. "Your movements have to be fluid, graceful."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one entrapped in the embrace of someone he's known for a max of three weeks. Or she supposes he _is_ , but this is what he does for a living. She's not a pairs skater, she's not an ice dancer—she skates alone, has to worry only about herself.

She's endured years of strict training, perfecting the very 'rigid' posture she's come to take pride in. And now he wants her to, what, throw all of that away at the drop of a hat?

"I _am_ loose."

He chuckles like a teenage boy, purses his lips into a straight line to curb any lingering laughter. It doesn't work.

"I didn't—" She slaps at his arm, rolls her eyes. "You know what I meant."

"I do, I know," he agrees, amusement still in those baby blues, and she finds she can't even be angry. "And now you have to be _looser_ , Kate Beckett."

Huffing out a breath, she gives him a pointed look and moves back into position.

Two eights and two sevens later they've slipped down to third place, and it's the splay of his palm at the small of her back that keeps her from panicking on air.

* * *

During her breaks, while Rick goes over their routine and polishes bits here and there (a process in which she's absolutely zero help), she curls herself into the corner of the break room couch. Her laptop balances on her thighs, browser open to the live feed from this weeks Worlds competition.

Something like regret pools low in her stomach as she watches the ladies free skate. Then desire, followed by jealousy. The last skater finishes her program, waits in the kiss and cry for her scores, and Kate's almost inclined to believe _she's_ more anxious.

The technical difficulty of the routine shows in the girl's scores, pushes her into first place, and Kate watches on with a tingle in her blood as the skater jumps up to hug her coach, pure joy written on her face.

With more force than necessary she slams the laptop shut, squeezes her eyes closed, and forces herself to take a deep breath.

As luck would have it, upon opening her eyes she realizes Rick has entered the break room. A camera man follows and the other dancers begin to shuffle out, whether out of obligation or sheer desire to remove themselves from the tension she alone is radiating, she doesn't know.

"Hey," he says, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

The cameras zoom in, expectant, waiting, and she snaps.

"No," she hisses. "I'm _not_ okay, Rick. I should be at Worlds right now, clutching that gold medal around my neck," she points uselessly to her closed laptop, images of the gold medalist still fresh in her mind, "I should be competing, proving to the world that my win wasn't a fluke, that I'm not some... _trampy_ one hit wonder!"

She pauses only long enough to catch her breath, to stand from her spot on the couch and pace.

"This isn't _me_! In these bright colors, dancing around in heels and floating around the floor. I'm not soft, I never have been, I don't know _how_ to be. I'm rigid, I'm uptight, I'm a perfectionist," she cries, frustrated tears prickling at the backs of her eyelids. "This career, I... the ice, it's where I belong. It's cold, it doesn't feel, it's like me."

Rick regards her with eyes far too expressive, stares at her in a way that has her certain he's looking right through her. She almost wants to beg him to say something, to yell at her for acting like the entitled skater the press believes her to be, and at the same time wants to push past him, to flee.

This is too much.

She should've kept her mouth shut; she's revealed more of herself than she's comfortable with, revealed a side she doesn't often show. And in front of the cameras, no less. _Foolish_.

Editing will no doubt turn this into a dramatic clip about how she thinks she's so much better than all of the current skaters, how she could've easily snatched that medal away from the winner had she competed.

And maybe they'd be right.

She's Kate Beckett, she's cruel and cold and her icy interior matches that of the rinks she trains in.

"Kate." His voice is quiet and he takes a small, cautious step towards her. "Is that really how you see yourself?"

Pursing her lips, she looks up, blinks to halt the falling tears. Her pointed silence speaks loudly enough, and after a few moments she brings her gaze to his, hyper aware of the camera trained on her face.

"If you're looking for America's Sweetheart, go find Betty White or Sandra Bullock. You've got the wrong girl."

* * *

Rick finds her later after the rest of the cast has filtered out and the cameras are nowhere to be found. Her shoulders are stiff with tension and he presses his fingers into her skin, urges her to relax and take a deep breath.

"This show has a learning curve," he tells her, coaxing her gaze to meet his. "It doesn't come easily to anyone, Kate. There are missteps and missed opportunities, but if you push through, with the right partner," his grin widens and she huffs, looks off into the air, "there's something really wonderful to gain from the experience."

With a sigh, she bites at the inside of her cheek. Despite the obvious stroke of his own ego, she reads sincerity in his voice, in the way he regards her.

A few moments later the fight drains from her body; she drops her arms to her side, relents.

"They're going to edit that to make me seem like a bitch, aren't they?"

"Oh absolutely." Kate gives a small chuckle. "So let's kill it this week and show Worlds what they're missing out on."

They walk towards the parking lot side by side, Kate bumping her shoulder against his in a silent thank you.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all for your sweet comments!


	3. Chapter 3

Rick wants to meet her for brunch, and she silently thanks every higher power that he decided on 10:00. It's nearing 2am now, every nerve ending in her body keeping her awake, and she's not entirely sure she'd have been able to control herself if he'd suggested an early breakfast that required her to be up in 4 hours.

She wakes around 9:00 (after silencing her first two alarms) and peels herself from her bed, gets dressed, and finds herself fleeing from the hotel to make it there on time. The cafe he mentioned is only twenty minutes away, but in Los Angeles that usually means anywhere from half an hour to forty five minutes, an hour.

In theory, she should've woken up when her first alarm went off at 8:15, but she figures Rick can wait a few extra minutes.

He's, unsurprisingly, already there when she finally rolls up at twenty after ten.

"Sorry," she opens with, offers the tiniest hints of a smile.

He simply waves her off. "LA traffic—I get it."

Kate nibbles through her salad as Rick tells her he thinks they'll make it into the finale. Her brows shoot up.

"That surprises you?" he asks, amused. "We've yet to drop below third on the leader board."

One shoulder lifts. "Didn't think I'd get too far based on public votes."

She says it casually, doesn't dwell. There's not much more to say; she's not exactly the most beloved in the press. They love to hate her, sure, but they don't love her.

The level of distaste isn't as noticeable in the US—she _did_ just win their first gold for a ladies single skate in over a decade, after all—but even so, the rumors linger. She somehow rigged the Olympics, she sabotaged France's reigning champion, she seduced all of the male judges and slept her way to gold.

They go on and on, each more vile than the last.

Her icy exterior serves her well, doesn't allow the public to see just how deep these words cut. She tells herself it doesn't bother her, she doesn't care what they think, and to an extent it's true. She knows the truth, she's confident in her skating and the ways in which she presents herself (most of the time, anyway), but after a while it _does_ start to eat at her _._

She doesn't like to admit it, but on occasion ice does crack.

"Why not?"

Kate scoffs. "You know why."

"I've read the headlines," Rick concedes, to which she gives a mirthless smirk, raises her fork in a _see, that's why_ gesture before shoving lettuce into her mouth. "But I haven't read the actual articles, Kate. I don't have to."

"You should," she says easily, if not a little bitterly, "it'll give you a little more insight into the kind of person I am."

"I don't believe that." Her eyes lift to his. "Not for a second."

For a moment, just a second, she manages to forget the presence of the cameras, capturing their entire meal from a distance. Camera men shift in her peripheral and she straightens up.

She says nothing.

His hand on hers catches her off guard. "And I know you don't believe it either," he says, his tone dripping with confidence.

"You've known me for, what, Rick—a little over a month? What could you _possibly_ know about me that has you so confident all of these papers are wrong? That every single one of those reports about me are untrue?"

"I know that you can be _crazy_ anal," he starts, and she rolls her eyes. Well, she's _told_ him that much. "I know that despite your frustrations, you pour everything you have into what you're doing. You've been skating since you were four years old—" She smirks; he's been reading up on her. "—and you've worked your ass off to get to where you are, raising in the ranks of the skating world one step at a time. I can see it in the way skating frees you; it's your passion, it's something you're proud of, so no, I don't think you'd resort to sabotage or seduction to win. You're good enough to win based on merit, on talent."

She's not expecting the speech, but it has warmth rushing to her skin.

"I know you've been conditioned to believe you're this ice queen, unfeeling, but you've shown me that's not all true. You've confined yourself to various ice rinks around the country and devoted your entire life to your discipline, and you're good at what you do—you're also your own worst critic."

Kate averts her gaze. The familiar welling of unwelcomed tears pricks at the backs of her eyes and she doesn't want the cameras to pick up on it.

"But I also know that you hate the yellow skittles, sometimes you snort when you laugh too hard, that you'll offer someone your favorite granola bars if you think they need the pick me up more than you do."

When she still says nothing, just peers at him from beneath her lashes, he shoots her a smile.

"So, sure, I've known you for under two months, but I've seen enough to know what kind of person you are, Kate," he says, and she feel this heart-to-heart coming to its close. "And now I'm just glad that all of America gets to witness this side of you, too."

All she can offer is the subtle, grateful upturn of her lips.

* * *

Week four arrives and with it comes a bit more freedom. Jazz allows for more lifts, more exaggerated movements, and there's less of an emphasis on having the perfect frame.

Without such a strict focus on all of the techniques imperative to ballroom dances, Kate finds herself having some real fun.

This slight shift in demeanor doesn't go unnoticed by Rick.

"You've loosened up," he comments, a smile on his face and a hand on his hip. "If I'd have known one little outburst would make such a difference I would've wound you up week one."

"Funny." Hands braced on her thighs, she huffs. "I told you I was loose."

"You did," he acknowledges. "And you were wrong." She swats at him but he dodges it, manages to grab her wrist and spin her into him. " _Now_ you're loose."

After a few moments she becomes hyper-aware of the press of her body against his. She pulls away gently, meanders over to where their things are lined up against the wall to grab her bottle of water. Less ballroom technique does _not_ mean easy. Jazz requires high energy and lots of it; sweat beads down her forehead.

"Let's run through it one more time and then we'll take a break?"

Kate nods, slaps the top of her bottle closed and tosses it into her open bag.

With one more rehearsal under their belts, she slides down the mirror, lets herself stretch her legs as her body slumps against the glass. She's used to intense workouts and training, but she has to admit— _Dancing with the Stars_ is kicking her ass.

All of her worries about not being in shape for _Stars on Ice_ have flown out the window. If anything, she thinks she'll be in _better_ shape.

* * *

The package is, as expected, rough.

Clips from her breakdown in the break room make up the bulk of what's shown, and it somehow seems so much worse than she remembers it. Or maybe this is exactly how it played out, and she's just been oblivious to the realities of the situation.

Kate winces; she comes across as bitchy, elitist, and generally ungrateful for the experience she's gaining through _Dancing with the Stars_. The way the clips are arranged make it look as though she was yelling _at_ Rick and her entire body tenses.

She wasn't angry with him; she was angry with _herself_ —she was projecting, and it just so happens those projections were aimed at him. She's since apologized, knows he's done nothing to be faulted for, but seeing it all over again, watching it as a third party observer and not as a participant... it's horrible.

"Turn around," Rick murmurs. His attempts to twist her body away from the screen are resisted at first, but then he tips her chin with his forefinger, coaxes her to meet his gaze. She relents after a few seconds, allows him to gently guide her body until her back is facing the screen. "Don't watch it. Don't pay any attention to it."

It's nearly impossible to tune it out, though she tries.

Her jaw set, she focuses on a stain marring the black floor beneath her feet. Kate knows it's all for the drama—what fun would it be to let this outburst of hers slide? Despite this knowledge, it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

The tail end of the package is better; it shows footage from their jazz rehearsals, shows Kate loosening up and enjoying herself. She laughs and smiles and jokes around with Rick, and it's almost as if it's two completely different people from the start of the package to the end.

"It's okay," he whispers as the intro comes to a close. His thumb caresses her wrist. "You've got this."

Their dance goes well enough.

She hits all of her cues, paints the smile onto her face and exudes as much energy as she possibly can. Rick picks her up and tosses her just as they've rehearsed, she sticks the landing, and their kicks are in time with each other.

To the untrained eye she's sure it looks like a perfectly fine routine, but she spends the entire time thinking about the package and not her movements, and she knows it showed.

Up in the sky box, Erin Andrews shoves a microphone into their faces and with practiced sympathy asks, "What happened?"

Before Kate can even formulate some kind of coherent thought to explain her actions, Rick's speaking. "Editing happened," he says, and Kate's head immediately whips to his. "What you saw in that package was _five minutes_ in a week's worth of recorded footage. I think there should have been more inclusion of our rehearsals where Kate was cracking jokes and less of one emotional moment."

Erin nods understandingly. "We all fall victim to the power of editing at one point or another," she says, and Kate briefly remembers hearing that she's actually a former contestant herself. "Kate?"

She clears her throat, presses an open palm against the flimsy fabric covering her ribs. "Yeah, I mean—that clip in the break room was a really overwhelming moment for me," she admits with a nod. "Missing Worlds isn't something I thought I'd ever be doing, but neither is this show, and it just hit me a bit harder than I'd anticipated. But that's over, and Rick's been really incredible putting up with me."

The audience laughs.

"I don't think I would've made it with any other partner, so I'm grateful," she adds, offering a smile.

She meets Rick's gaze briefly, sees the appreciation resting there, and turns back to Erin. The woman's saying something but she doesn't hear it.

With straight eights, they find themselves in second place at the end of the night.

* * *

When _Stars on Ice_ begins, Rick follows her to New York for the first tour date.

They practice when they can find the time, going through bits and pieces of their routine in the locker rooms and while they wait in the wings. It's nowhere near the number of hours they usually get to rehearse, and though it nags at her she isn't nearly as perturbed as Rick.

She wants to be prepared for the jive, of course, the footwork quicker than she's used to and the music all around more uptempo, but she can't focus on anything but the sweet relief of being on the ice again.

It's free, it's graceful; it's everything she knows she succeeds in being in this one arena.

As she steps off the ice, Rick's beaming smile is the first thing she sees. She tells herself the way her stomach flips is residual adrenaline from her triple Axel and has absolutely nothing to do with the way he looks at her.

* * *

Their jive suffers a little due to a lack of rehearsals, but they remain steady in second place.

* * *

They fly back to Los Angeles on a Saturday, immediately following her next _Stars on Ice_ date.

Kate drops her bag by the front door of her hotel room and heaves out a sigh, barely makes it a few steps into the room before she collapses onto the bed.

She's used to grueling hours and this is similar and at the same time completely different. Travel is a part of her job, it's something she's become accustomed to, but the quick turnaround in air travel is taking its toll. She's not used to being in Detroit one day and back in Los Angeles 12 hours later.

With tired limbs she peels the leggings from her body and slides into a pair of shorts she'd folded and kept at the foot of the bed, forgoes getting up in favor of keeping on the t-shirt she's wearing, and pulls the covers up to her shoulders.

Camera blocking is bright and early, and with any luck she'll wake bright eyed and with enough time to stop for coffee.

* * *

Week six is stressful.

It's Halloween week and they have two dances instead of one, with the addition of a team dance. They decide on a Ghostbusters theme for their solo dance, and she's positive Rick is going to burst with excitement.

Their costumes send him into a spiral akin to a kid in a candy store, and she watches on with amusement as he slips into the Ghostbuster uniform. Hers is less obvious, simply a distressed white dress since she's playing the role of the ghost.

He turns to her with a beaming, exuberant smile the second he manages to shimmy it over the clothes he's already wearing.

"Very fitting," she laughs, giving him a once over. "You were born to wear that outfit."

"I _was_ , wasn't I?" Rick stalks around, pretends to shoot at some ghosts. "Who you gonna call?"

He pauses, looks to her expectantly.

"I'm not saying it," she refuses, her arms crossing over her chest even as the corners of her lips curl.

" _Kaaate,_ come on."

"Nuh uh."

Moving closer, he bats his eyelashes. "Who you gonna call?"

Kate sighs. "Ghostbusters," she murmurs, pursing her lips as his grin grows impossibly wider. She rolls her eyes but can't wipe the smile off of her face.

"You're _ridiculous_."

The team dance is themed around The Nightmare Before Christmas.

It's a clash of too many personalities and it sends Kate's head into a tailspin. She has no control over anything they're doing and she remains silent while the other contestants joke around and get side tracked.

The pros congregate on one half of the floor to work out the routine, each giving their input as they begin to choreograph, and the celebrities hang around the other half of the room. Kate sits against the wall, stretching her legs and pointing her toes into the floor so she feels like she's doing _something_.

She catches Rick glancing back at her when she looks up, and feels herself relaxing at the reassuring nod he shoots her way.

They'll get it together.

She and Rick get three nines and a ten. They still haven't secured a perfect score and it's getting under her skin, settles uncomfortably in her stomach.

The team dance doesn't do quite as well, with two tens and two nines, but they still beat the other team by two points.

At the end of the night, despite coming up short of a perfect 30, their combined scores have them sitting daintily at the top of the leader board.

* * *

In Dallas Kate attempts to add a new combination to her routine, a triple toe-loop into a triple Axel. Though she's only successfully landed it a handful of times, it was the last minute addition to her Olympic program that, in her opinion, won her the gold.

She _just_ lands it, her skate wobbly as it connects with the ice, but she can hear Rick's supportive whistle from the sidelines and her heart jumps into her throat. The applause from the crowd becomes deafening and as she skates around, unable to make out any faces in the darkened rink, she can't help the beaming smile that graces her lips.

When the newspapers run the following day, she's regarded as the country's home grown champion. Pride bubbles beneath her skin; her win wasn't a fluke, and skating a clean routine on this tour is finally allowing the press to recognize that too.

Rick texts her a photo of a headline— _Kate Beckett Smashes High Expectations: One Hit Wonder No More_ —with an abundance of exclamation points. Beneath it comes an actual message.

Her breath catches in her throat.

 _I told you they'd eventually see in you what I see. Hopefully now you will, too_.

* * *

 **A/N** : You're all wonderful, thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : Please note there's non-graphic mentions of an eating disorder in this chapter.

* * *

With Julianne out for a week, a guest judge is brought in.

Guest judges, Rick says, are either hit or miss. Some know little about the technical side of dance and use no basis for scoring other than their own enjoyment level, other's _only_ focus on the technical and notice every misstep, and then there's tonight's guest judge.

She's a tactless, graceless dance coach who doesn't dance herself but still nitpicks at the small, barely-there transgressions of others. Claims of sickled feet spew from her mouth, and even the other three judges turn surprised faces in her direction.

Rick bristles at her side, a protective hand splayed at the small of her back.

"I don't know what you were looking at," Bruno drawls, to which Rick offers an appreciative nod in return.

The guest judge merely shrugs, looks completely unperturbed. "I watched your earlier dances. You showed great promise and I have to say I'm disappointed by tonight's performance."

As such, their Paso Doble brings them their first seven since week one, the paddle raised by the sour-faced woman who wouldn't be able to execute their routine if she tried. This comes as a sharp contrast to the triple tens they receive from Bruno, Carrie Ann, and Len on the same dance.

Kate purses her lips and forces herself to keep a neutral expression. What does this woman know about dance anyway? True, _she_ doesn't know much herself, but when there's a 3 point difference between every other judge's score and her score, something's gotta give.

Up in the sky box, Rick's grip on her tightens as they stand beside Erin, who takes the opportunity and asks them what they think of the scores.

He looks over to her with a smile. "I think three judges know what they're talking about," he says, tugging Kate closer to his side. "They recognize gold when they see it."

There are collective mumbles coming from the audience, a bunch of _oohs_ , and the camera's pan from Kate's expression to the camera down in the ballroom, aimed at the judges table. With nothing left to say, Erin pats them on the back and the cameramen redirect their attention.

With everyone paying attention to the next couple waiting on stage, Kate turns to gape at him. "Rick..."

"What? She doesn't know what the hell she's talking about," he mutters. There's an edge to his voice, a polar opposite to his usual cheery, playful demeanor. "This isn't contemporary. She wants to talk about your frame? How well you portrayed the character? Whether or not you were grounded? Sure, go at it. But given the context, sickled feet is the most ridiculous criticism I've ever heard."

Running a steadying hand up his forearm, she offers a smile. "I can handle criticism, you know. I'm pretty much a pro."

"Valid criticism, sure," he counters, taking a breath. "But that score was bull. You're my partner—I'll always stick up for you."

* * *

Admittedly, Kate's most excited for their contemporary.

Emoting is something she can do well—artistry scores in her programs depend on it—and she has little trouble painting a story using just her body, her face. When she shows up to the rehearsal, Rick's sitting in the middle of the room. She drops her stuff beside his and moves to join him.

He tells her their song is Ed Sheeran's version of Make It Rain. "It's kind of about internal struggle, and about getting out of the prison a lot of us can create for ourselves up here," he says, gesturing to his head.

She nods to herself, gaze focused on her lap as she chews on her bottom lip. Truthfully, she understands that more than she'd like to admit. The more he tells her about his idea for the creative, the more it hits home.

"You okay?"

Kate snaps her head up. "I'm—yeah, sorry." When he gives her a questioning look, she shakes her head. "Your concept, I just... I relate to it."

He doesn't push for her to tell him; she knows he probably should, knows this kind of information is what this show thrives off of, drama and personal struggle. But he doesn't, and oddly enough that makes her want to tell him, despite the cameras.

"I've been skating since I was four years old," she starts, and he leans in, nods. "When I was maybe fifteen, I hit a wall. I wasn't getting any better, I wasn't getting any faster, and I'd watch the other girls practice and to me, you know, it looked like they just _soared_. My coach at the time, he told me it was because I was too fat."

Rick's hand finds hers, and she shoots him a tight-lipped smile.

"He kept saying 'you're too fat, you're too fat, that's why you don't fly, that's why you are slow'," she says, her voice taking on a thick Russian accent. "And as a teenager, practically a child, you know, you don't know how to deal with that kind of pressure." She pauses, takes a breath. "For the next five years of my life I had an eating disorder. My parents didn't find out until my mom found me passed out backstage after a competition."

"Kate," Rick says, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. Your coach sounds so... _horrible_."

She chuckles. "Yeah; luckily, he doesn't coach anymore."

"Good." Noting her subdued expression, he squeezes her fingers. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. That's in the past, I've just... I've never talked about this publicly before," she admits. "No one knew, but if you go back and watch my programs from when I was 18, 19... it's obvious they don't hold up, and it's because I was so weak."

Rick scoots over and wraps one arm around her shoulders. "Thank you for telling me."

* * *

When Rick's forehead brushes against hers on show night, mere seconds before their music is set to begin, she allows her eyes to slip closed.

For a moment, they're not on stage. She's just here, with him, and no one else is around. This is probably the most vulnerable she's ever felt on this show, right here, because the story they're telling _is_ so personal.

The music starts and she's pulled back to reality with the weight of Rick's arm around her neck. His role in the dance is to represent the bulimia, dressed in all black; she escapes and gets pulled back in, escapes and gets pulled back in.

The ballroom, save for their music, is silent.

The movements in this dance are sharper, meant to hit the beats in dramatic transitions. She's on the floor kicking her legs in a bicycle motion as Rick hovers closely above her; she stands on the arm of the couch they have settled in the middle of the ballroom and falls back, stiffly, onto the cushions; she's lifted from the floor and into his arms as she squirms and tries to break free.

Her toes are pointed (she hopes, a little spitefully, the guest judge is watching from her home—sickled feet her ass), arms and legs stretched into beautiful lines despite the dark subject matter.

Their dance outruns the music; she faces the judges and Rick comes from behind her, covers her mouth with his hands. When Kate rips his hands from her body and finally breaks free of him, of the disease, she takes a few staggering steps forward and the ballroom erupts into applause.

She lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding—she feels _light_.

Four 'ten' paddles are their reward for a job well done. It's their first perfect score of the season, and Rick barely waits for Tom to stop speaking before he pulls her into a tight embrace, lifts her from the floor and spins her in the middle of the ballroom.

"I'm so proud of you," he breathes against her skin.

His voice is full of elation and pure affection; her heart constricts in her chest.

She's going to miss him when this is over.

* * *

The _Stars on Ice_ tour dates trickle westward, sparing Kate and Rick from the added hassle of traveling and splitting their practice time between the ice and the ballroom. At most it's a few hours drive, which they spend bickering over the radio and Kate promising him he can make it the final thirty minutes without stopping for a snack.

"When I starve I hope you have fun telling the producers why I can't dance."

Kate huffs. "You ate a full meal before we left. If anyone should be hungry, it's me."

"I _told_ you to have more than that puny salad," he says from his seat. "You eat like a bird."

Her stomach chooses that moment to emit a traitorous grumble, and Rick's grin threatens to split his face.

They stop for a snack.

* * *

At the Santa Barbara show, Kate decides to add in the same triple toe-loop into a triple Axel that secured her some home turf support back in Dallas. The way she throws it into her routines in certain cities and not others is inconsistent at best.

It's unpredictable, but the combination has served her well thus far. Or maybe she's just getting cocky, wants to maintain the high.

She isn't so lucky this time.

Horrified gasps from the crowd are drowned out by blinding pain as she crumples onto the ice. It sears up her side, through her ribs and into the shoulder she assumes is, best case scenario, dislocated. Blood pounds loudly in her ears, keeps in time with the panicked beating of her heart, its pace quick and erratic.

She barely registers someone running onto this ice, lifting her body from it's curled position on the cold surface.

* * *

When her eyes open, she finds herself lying on a cot just outside the locker rooms. Medics shuffle by, one by one; they murmur things she can't make out, but her head is pounding and she finds herself disinterested anyway.

She twists her head carefully to the other side where she find Rick, knees bouncing so quickly she's surprised he hasn't experienced lift off. His face is white, concern bleeding from every line, while his hands wring in his lap.

"Hey," he whispers once he realizes she's awake and staring at him, "how do you feel?"

"Rick, I'm _so_ sorry—"

"This isn't your fault," he tries, but she shakes her head.

It is. This is all her fault.

"No. I shouldn't have tried to add in that combination last minute." She winces as she tries to sit up, her ribs screaming in protest at the movement. Rick tries to help her, to get her to stay where she is, but she waves him off. "It was stupid. I just _barely_ landed it in Dallas and I thought..."

"Kate, that doesn't matter. I...I watched you fall and I just—" Rick pauses, runs a hand down his face. "You hit so hard and you didn't _move_ and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't know if you were okay or if you'd slammed your head against the ice or... It was—terrifying."

She sighs. "I'm sorry," she repeats, allows him to take her scraped hand in his. The pad of his thumb caresses her skin. "We'll get a sling for my arm and then we'll just practice extra hard—"

"Practice? Kate," Rick whispers, his lips pulled into a thin line. "Your body needs to heal, to _rest_. The competition isn't important right now."

"Yes, it _is."_ Her voice raises. "You said it yourself, Rick—we're supposed to _win_ this thing. This is supposed to show everybody that you deserve your spot as a pro after your quick elimination last season, that I'm not the icy, heartless bitch even I still think I am sometimes. I _have_ to dance, Rick. We have to win this."

Rick manages a small smile, his fingers squeezing hers in response. "It's Thursday. We'll see how you feel on Sunday at camera blocking, okay?"

"But we'll still practice?"

"I'll show you the new steps I've been adding. _If_ you're cleared, you can do a little bit," he compromises. "But if it looks like you're in excruciating pain, you're stopping. Deal?"

Her initial reaction is to argue, to berate him for treating her like a child. She's a trained athlete, for god's sake; she's skated on sprained ankles, done her jumps with broken ribs and bandaged toes. She's no stranger to pushing through the pain.

After a calming breath, she lets some of the frustration seep from her skin. She knows he's just concerned—he just watched her slam into the ice, she reminds herself—and wants nothing but for her to get back into perfect health.

But he also needs to understand: she started something and she intends to finish it—on top.

They can't pull out now. Not after Rick's spent so long clawing at her outer shell, coaxing her to push herself out of her comfort zone. Not after she's finally started realizing that showing the softer side to her isn't so horrible after all.

Going home means she probably won't see him again, and she's not sure she's ready for that.

* * *

They dance on Monday night.

The package replays her fall, shows footage she was unaware had even been recorded. She cringes as her body makes contact with the ice, and her shoulder stings in response.

It's unsurprising that the editing plays up the dramatics; it zooms in on her collapsed body and then cuts to Rick's panicked expression. _That_ she had not seen before.

When the reel stops and silence fills the ballroom for the briefest second before their music plays, she lets out a deep exhale. With a practiced smile, she joins Rick in the middle of the floor.

It's a watered down version of the samba they'd perfected before her injury, and frustrated tears prick at the backs of her eyes because she _knows_ she can do it better. There are a lot of hip rolls, and with the motion her bruised (not broken, as she reminds Rick each time he applies only a feather-like touch to her body) ribs scream out in pain.

Ever the professional, she merely smiles through it.

Her shoulder is still in its beginning stage of healing, and the second they step over towards Tom her hand unconsciously reaches up to hold her injured arm. Carrie Ann gives them sympathetic smiles, Julianne offers word of encouragement, Len praises her for getting back onto the horse, so to speak, and Bruno starts with a proud round of applause.

The samba earns them two eights and two nines, which is better than expected given the circumstances.

But it's week nine, the semi-finals, and everyone's phenomenal. The other couples get straight nines or perfect scores, and they slide into last place.

Kate gives Rick a sad smile, an apology. She knows they're probably going home.

* * *

They make it to the finals.

When Tom calls their names, tells them they're safe, Kate's heart leaps straight into her throat. She's in shock for a solid fifteen seconds, the spell broken only by Rick's exuberant (but gentle) hug, the whispers of _we did it_ into her ear.

The smile doesn't leave her face as the lights dim on them and they're allowed to fade into the background, patient as the fate of other couples are called.

"I'm _so_ proud of you," he murmurs, his hand burning at her lower back.

" _Us_. Proud of us." She twists to look up at him. "Glad you didn't make us sit this one out now?"

It's true—Rick had seen her wincing, face contorting into pain as she tried to get through the rehearsals she'd insisted on, and wanted to call it off. As much as he wanted to continue, to make it to the end with her, seeing her in so much pain was too much for him.

"We're doing this," she'd told him, a stubborn hand placed strategically on her hip. "I'm not quitting."

"You're in _pain_ , Kate."

She'd rolled her eyes. "I'm a figure skater," she'd reminded him, and he had merely blinked at the obvious declaration. "I've had broken toes, sprained ankles, bruised and broken ribs. I've had the flu, I've had migraines so bad I could barely stand up straight. But I still skated. This is what I _do_ , Rick. I didn't win gold by quitting, and we sure as hell aren't going to win a mirror ball that way either."

In the end, he'd acquiesced. She's hard headed, and it's the only thing that kept them in the game.

"I stand by my insistence that you take it easy," he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "But _yes_ , okay, you were right."

Her face splits into a grin. "I could get used to hearing that."

Rick huffs, just pulls her closer to him as the bottom two are called and presses a kiss to her temple.

* * *

 **A/N #2** : I can't thank you guys enough for your continued sweet words. If you're interested in dance I based their contemporary on (and borrowed some dialogue from), I encourage you to look up Alexa PenaVega and Mark Ballas's contemporary routine.


	5. Chapter 5

In the bathroom Kate dry swallows a handful of pills and stares in the mirror at her reflection. Tugging her shirt down over her shoulder, she twists a little to inspect the blooming array of blacks, blues and purples that canvas her skin. Delicately, she presses a few fingers to the bruise; with a wince, she pulls her hand away. It's still sensitive to the touch, though admittedly it's far better than last week.

Before heading out to meet Rick in the rehearsal studio, she holds the cold compress she brings with her to the offending area. She tries to do it every day before rehearsal, hopes it'll stave off the throbbing for at least as long as they practice.

The burning has begun to fade slowly, lessening to more of a dull pulsing, but it's nowhere near a quick enough recovery for her. She may be no stranger to pain, but still each time she expects to be able to bounce back immediately and skip this whole process.

Rick is bouncing around the room when she emerges, pure energy and excitement radiating from his body at the prospect of getting to choreograph a freestyle.

"This is, obviously, my first freestyle," he tells her, a smile splitting his face. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have this moment with."

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth. "I'm honored to be your first."

After a few moments of getting situated, his energy settles to a lower level and he moves to sit against the mirrors. Patting the hardwood with his palm, he encourages her to join him.

"You thought we were going home," he says, and she stretches her legs into a V in front of her.

"You didn't?"

"Maybe for a split second, but I had faith that our scores from the rest of the season would pull us through." He leans forward, lowers his voice to a whisper. "And _maybe_ I didn't want to think that our time would be over so quickly."

Her lips curl upwards. "Me either," she admits quietly.

When they finally get around to talking about the concept for the freestyle, he gives little away at first. Most people either opt for full out, high energy routines or slower, more contemporary pieces. Rick decides he wants it to be a mixture of different styles, instead, to show her versatility. They eventually settle on contemporary, Argentine tango, and jazz. They're the ones they deem their best, not necessarily in judges scores, but in the enjoyment they got out of performing them.

And that's what this is all about, really; a freestyle is no holds barred, go all out, have _fun_.

"I want to tell your story," he says finally, and she stiffens. There's so much of her story she hasn't told him. "If you'll let me."

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Letting people in is an unprecedented move for her, and with the exception of last week, telling him about the five year battle she fought trying to get out of her own head, her past and personal struggles are generally kept close to the belt, guarded fiercely and never talked about with the press.

Her skating, that's for public consumption. Her personal life isn't.

But she trusts him. With her safety on the show, which sometimes means trusting him with her life, and now, with her story.

And so she gives him bits and pieces of her childhood, the ups and downs of competitive figure skating and the sacrifices she's had to make. She was home schooled for most of high school, had few close friends (or friends outside of the discipline, really, because outsiders just don't understand the demand), and spent nearly all of her free time in the rink.

She even tells him about the damage her figure skating had done to her parents marriage. It's a sport that requires near 24/7 attention—training, endorsements, competitions, travel. That kind of pressure and necessity is bound to cause rifts. They were never divorced, but for a while it seemed inevitable, and they were separated for a year long period in her early teenage years.

Her eyes water thinking about it, going back to such a rough place, but in the end she manages a smile as she tells him they're much happier now.

"It's been a tough road to get where I am, but I was never under the impression that getting myself to the Olympics one day would be easy," she tells him. Despite everything she's had to go through, everything she's sacrificed for the shiny medals that have weighed heavily around her neck, she's _proud_.

The way his eyes soften as she speaks has her insides twisting, unwelcome butterflies taking up residence in her stomach. There are cameras pointed at them, waiting for something dramatic, but he shows no indication he's even aware of them. It's just the two of them; she has his undivided attention, and she can easily see each emotion play out on his face.

She wraps an arm tightly around her waist as if that'll be any help in pushing back the fluttering, and after brief eye contact she averts her gaze, takes a leveling breath.

"I'm going to give this routine everything I've got. You deserve a showstopper."

Not twenty four hours later he comes back with the music choice—Katy Perry's _Rise_ —and the choreography, and her heart clenches in her chest. It's all perfect, somehow manages to capture what she's told him in a way that's both incredibly emotional and uplifting. Inspirational.

Grateful is the only word she deems worthy to explain how she feels. For this, for him.

* * *

Her parents fly out for the finale and she greets them at the gates of the studio during her lunch break, accepts their crushing hugs.

"It's good to see you, Katie," her father says, a soft smile on his face.

Her mother echoes the sentiments, her hand clasped around Kate's wrist.

"It's really nice to see you guys too," she breathes, mustering a smile for them. She really is thrilled to see them; she hasn't had a chance to in months, not since before _Dancing with the Stars_ began. "I'm glad you could make it tonight."

Johanna huffs. "And miss our baby girl's last dance? Absolutely not," she tuts, and Kate rolls her eyes. "You've been doing wonderful, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

She spends a few minutes filling them in on a few things they've missed, just some behind the scenes tidbits she knows they'd get a kick out of. When she's run out of secrets to spill, her mother clears her throat.

"So," she starts, and Kate narrows her eyes, "where's this partner of yours?"

Kate gestures through the doors and towards the studio. "He's inside tweaking some of the dance."

"We'd love to meet him, Katie," Jim says, to which her mother nods in agreement. "He really seems to have softened you up."

Kate sighs. " _Dad_."

"Your father's right, honey. You seem... _happier."_ She resists the urge to groan. They're such _parents_. "We'd just like to meet this Rick in person, that's all. He seems like a fine man from what we've seen on television."

Well, her mother's not wrong about that.

Relenting, Kate exhales and starts moving inside, motions for her annoyingly smug parents to follow suit. She leads them through the halls and tries to stifle a laugh as they greet each pro that walks past by their first names, as if they're best friends.

When they reach their rehearsal room, she knocks on the door frame. "Hey," she calls out, chuckling when Rick startles. "Sorry. Rick, these are my parents." She moves out of the way so they can enter the room, and her heart soars at the genuine smile that forms on Rick's face. "Mom, Dad, this is Rick."

He shakes both of their hands. "Mr and Mrs. Beckett, it's so nice to meet you," he greets happily. "You have a wonderful daughter."

Johanna turns back to smirk at her daughter, and Kate gives her a look.

"We're pretty fond of her ourselves; I think we'll keep her," Jim says with a small laugh.

"Funny, Dad."

She vacates her position in the doorway and joins the trio in the center of the room, decides against leaving her parents alone with Rick. She's sure he'd be perfectly fine, but she won't do that to him. Knowing her parents, she's not entirely sure what kinds of things they'd say without her there as a buffer.

The conversation is pleasant as they just get to know each other, with her parents voluntarily offering up stories of _little Katie_. Rick, who takes in every word with a grin plastered onto his face, is enjoying this far more than she's comfortable with. Just wait until she meets his mother and gets all of the details on little Rick.

She freezes up at the thought, wonders where the hell that came from. Who says she'll even meet his mother? This isn't a meeting of the parents, this is simply her parents wanting to meet him because he's her dance partner; in kind, there's really no reason for her to meet his mother.

"You okay there?" Her mother's voice startles her from her thoughts.

Kate nods. "Yeah, good," she says. "I'm sure Rick has some more work to do on our dance, so maybe you guys should start heading back to the hotel?"

Johanna smirks. "Hint taken."

"That's not—" But she stops herself, doesn't bother trying to clarify; her mother is grinning at Rick and she just pulls her mouth into a tight smile. "We have to _practice_."

They say their goodbyes and Kate begins leading them towards the door, but she hears a distinct lack of footsteps following her. When she turns around, she finds her mother stopped and her father walking back up to Rick.

"Before we go, I want to thank you," he says, and Rick's brows furrow. "For taking care of our little girl. You're a good man, and we've been watching how well you interact with her. How well you treat her."

Her partner smiles. "I'd think of nothing else, Sir. It's how she deserves to be treated."

Kate's cheeks flame.

"And we have to thank you for being with her after her accident last week," Johanna adds, now joining her husband. "It was terrifying to watch what happened, even after Kate did her best to assure us she was fine, but seeing how you sat with her and have been helping her means a great deal to us both." She pauses. "Getting her to take it easy isn't a simple feat." Kate grumbles. "She's a stubborn one, but she seems to listen to you."

Rick laughs. "If I had it my way, she would've sat out last week," he admits. "But she's determined if nothing else, and there's nothing more I'd like than to make sure she's treating herself carefully."

Her parents exchange glances and Kate stands off to the side, meets Rick's gaze with glassy eyes. With one last hand shake she finally manages to guide her parents from the building with a promise to meet them later for dinner.

When she comes back into the rehearsal room, she leans against the wall.

"Seems you've got yourself some fans," she announces, arms crossed over her chest. A smirk tugs at her lips. "You're invited to dinner."

* * *

When all is said and done, a few moves they'd intended to have in the dance have to be scrapped. Her injuries prevent them from doing them full out, and she doesn't want to half-ass any part of this routine. They replace them with less challenging but equally beautiful choices.

When the music stops, a wave of emotion she wasn't expecting washes over her. There's something about telling her own story for a change, not simply a hypothetical concept, that's suddenly very overwhelming.

They _did it_.

She hunches over, hands on her knees as she takes a few deep breaths, her smile never fading.

The audience cheers and she feels Rick come up behind her, a delicate hand on her hip. She spins into his embrace, throws her arms around his neck and closes her eyes.

"You're beautiful," he breathes into her hair, his hold on her tight. Her fists grip the back of his shirt.

When the judges give them their final perfect score, Kate can't even begin to explain the high she feels.

* * *

They come in second.

When their names are called as the runner-up all Kate can do is relax into his embrace. The crowd groans, a cacophony of shocked gasps, but she only shakes her head against his chest, a soft smile still curling at the edges of her lips.

The winners start their celebration and he spins her around, holds her at arm's length to look into her eyes. There's so much she wants to say but she has no idea where to begin, how to even accurately express her emotions.

Rick presses a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, and her eyes slip closed. Pulling her into him, they stand with their arms wrapped around each other, swaying gently in place.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get that mirror ball for you."

She knows that if she hadn't been injured they really could've taken this thing home. If anything, she's most disappointed for him—he deserved this win.

"I couldn't have asked for anything more than this," he murmurs into her neck. His grip tightens on her, and one hand finds its way into her hair, fingers running gently through the strands.

After a few minutes, Tom makes his way from the winners and moves to greet them. He gives them both hugs, shoots them a sympathetic but proud smile.

"Rick, Kate—you two should be _so_ proud of yourselves. You've had one hell of a season," he says. Kate's fingers resting on Rick's hand, now wrapped around her waist, squeeze. "How do you feel?"

"I couldn't be more proud of her," he smiles, looking down at her for a moment. "I went from being eliminated first to being runner-up, and that's all this girl right here."

Kate huffs. "I think you had a _little_ something to do with it."

"I won so much more than a mirror ball," Rick says, his voice sincere. Kate's cheeks turn a dark pink, masked only by the sheer amount of blush she's currently wearing.

The host gives them a knowing grin, congratulates them again, and makes his departure. Streamers and confetti continue to fall from the ceiling, and the two of them finally break apart to go over and congratulate the winners.

As she shakes hands with the winner and his pro partner, it hits her. Hard.

It's really over.

* * *

She doesn't really have time to dwell. As promised, she and Rick accompany her parents for dinner.

They gush about their freestyle—thankfully they aren't at all upset she's allowed Rick to use some of their personal struggles as inspiration for the story—and lament on their loss. Kate merely clutches at Rick's hand beneath the table and nods, says she's just glad to have been able to finish out the competition on a high note.

Kate catches her mother's eye, follows it to where their hands disappear below the table. She flushes a little but doesn't move.

Johanna grins.

* * *

Rick drives her back to her hotel after they part ways with her parents. The disappointment begins to settle low in her stomach, the feeling of being _so close_ , but she supposes second place isn't too horrible.

A few months ago she would have scoffed at the mere thought; second place is unacceptable, the first to lose. Any place other than first is worthy of disappointment.

But as they arrive she looks over at Rick, watches in silence as he puts the car into park and turns it off. She finds herself thinking that, with him as her partner, she would've been satisfied with any placement. That alone is so out of character for her it's a little scary.

It's funny how she had to be convinced by her manager to even take the spot on this show and now she's sad that it's over.

"Do you want to... come in? For some coffee or something?"

He raises a brow. "Coffee at 9pm?"

She shrugs. "I also have a bottle of wine in my bag. You couldn't really drink at dinner, designated driver and all."

"I'd love to," he says, a smile on his face as he opens his door and steps out. Kate takes a breath. What exactly is she doing? Seconds later, not nearly enough time for her to think about her actions, her door opens. "After you. Both because I'm a gentleman, and because I don't know which one is your room."

Kate laughs, rolling her eyes as she pushes herself from the seat. "Let's go."

She takes his hand after he closes the door behind her, and with newfound confidence blooming, leads him through the lobby and up to her floor.

* * *

 **A/N** : Sorry this is up a bit late, it's been a crazy week. And pretty sure I'm a broken record at this point, but _thank you_.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ignore the mess," she says, gesturing in the direction of some loose clothing. She plucks the shirts from the edge of the bed and tosses them on top of her closed suitcase. "Took a while to decide this morning."

Rick laughs. "You should see my place."

Ignoring how she actually _wants_ to see his place, she motions for him to make himself comfortable as she moves toward the minibar. She squats down, opens the door and grabs two bottles from inside.

"Red or white?"

His brow raises. "You brought two full-sized bottles of wine with you?"

"I was going to bring a bottle of vodka but I figured wine would be more... appropriate."

In his silence she holds up one bottle in each hand again, raises one then the other a few times.

"Red is fine with me," he decides, to which she nods, puts the white back on the rack. When she pulls out two wine glasses, he barely manages to stifle a laugh. "Wine glasses too? You really come prepared."

She looks over her shoulder, smirks. "They're plastic. Couldn't very well travel with glasses in my suitcase, so I bought a few cheap ones once I got to LA."

She pours the wine and places the bottle onto the little table in the corner, should they want more, and crosses the room. Rick's already situated himself on her hotel bed, seated against the headboard with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. She hands him a glass and wanders to the other side of the bed, rests hers on the small desk beside it while she climbs up.

Spilling red wine on the hotel's white sheets is the last thing she wants to deal with.

"To the best season I could've asked for," he says once they're both settled.

A smile forms on her lips. She clinks their glasses gently, not wanting to risk cracking them; they _were_ cheap, after all. Bringing the rim to her mouth, she takes a small sip. With the pain medication she's on she's a little weary of having too much. She had a glass or two at dinner, too, but she figures this won't do too much damage. She can handle her alcohol.

And, well, she could use it.

These past few months have been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences, and though she still feels like she's riding the high she can feel it slowly begin to come back down. It's really over now; no more early morning rehearsals, lunch dates, ridiculous banter that she pretends to be annoyed by.

His thigh brushes against hers as they sit side by side, so close she can feel the heat radiating from his body. She doesn't know if it's because her hotel room is exceptionally warm or if their proximity is making him feel the same way she does right now.

Hot.

It's been weeks and weeks filled with meaningful glances, lingering kisses pressed to her forehead, to the corner of her mouth. She doesn't know when the latter started but she doesn't find herself too preoccupied by the details. Days filled with his comforting, heavy hand against the small of her back as he guides her somewhere. The way his hand lands on her thigh whenever they sit beside each other, fingers tapping lightly.

Beyond the physical, she's touched by the protectiveness that comes out in full force any time she encounters any negativity, by the concern, palpable in the thick air, when it's even possible she's been injured.

She's a grown woman, she can handle herself, but having someone who cares _so_ much... it's disarming. Because he _does_ care, more than she believes possible, and much to her initial surprise she's really come to care about him too.

Maybe even something more.

When she looks over at him, heart beating desperately against her ribs, his gaze is already trained on her. There's something in his eyes, pride mixed with what looks suspiciously like longing. Just the way he looks at her sends her over the edge.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

"I can't believe the season's over."

"Yeah," she murmurs. One minute she was groaning, muttering quiet obscenities to herself for choosing this show over Worlds, and suddenly she's mourning the end of a journey. "I'm... really sad to see it end."

He lowers the glass from his lips with a hum. "Really?"

Rolling her eyes, she lets out a small laugh. "Believe it or not I've become kind of accustomed to this little routine we have going," she says. She takes another sip of wine. "Dancing, rehearsing, traveling."

"Well, you'll still be rehearsing and traveling. Just not dancing," he points out, and she shrugs. "I'm sure you're itching to get back onto the ice for real."

If he'd have said that a few weeks ago, she'd have said yes. Absolutely.

She's still excited to get back to her rink—she misses it, of course. She's never been _not_ training for this long before and it's an odd feeling, but at the same time she's really enjoyed doing this. Dancing.

With Rick.

She doesn't think she would've enjoyed it as much if it was anyone but him.

"Mm," she hums, bumping the rim of the glass against her bottom lip.

They're silent for a while, just breathing in each other's quiet presence. When she finishes off her drink she pauses, debates getting another glass, but eventually figures three is a good enough place to stop for the night. Leaning over, she rests the empty glass on the dresser.

"I'm going to miss you." Rick's the one to break the silence. His voice is quiet, and when she looks over he's regarding her with soft eyes. "I meant what I said, you know. I wouldn't have gotten this far without you, Kate, but that's not all this is. You've—you've been a real light this season, and that's something I needed. You really are an extraordinary person and you don't give yourself enough credit, but I'm honored to have gotten to know you. The real you."

Her eyes water as she blinks up at him, lets the ghost of a smile grace her lips.

Oh, her heart. He's something else; sweet, far too sweet. She doesn't deserve him but _god_ does she want to.

She doesn't even know what to say to that. _I'll miss you too_ would be accurate but seems so inadequate to express everything she's feeling.

So she doesn't speak; she maintains his gaze as she leans up, pushing back the lump in her throat as she slants her mouth over his. She inches impossibly closer, one hand braced on his chest to hold herself steady. Surprised, he stiffens beneath her for a beat before he reacts, brings his hands to rest on her hips.

"Kate," he breathes when they part for the briefest moment. She swallows his next words, pressing her lips back against his. His hands slide up her sides, hold steady at her ribs. "Kate, what are you—"

"Celebrating."

He groans when she swings one leg over his lap and settles, but the guttural sound only spurs her further. Trailing kisses down his jawline, she takes pride in the hitch in his breath.

"You're hurt." He tries to pull back, to ease the grip she has on him. "Hey, stop."

"I'm _fine_ ," she almost growls.

She's not great with words. She never has been, not when it comes to matters of the heart. But this—saying everything she needs to using her body, her sensuality— _this_ she can do.

"You're in pain, Kate, and you're drunk," he says softly, running his hands down her forearms. "I don't want to hurt you any more than you already are."

She shakes her head, murmurs her words against his skin. "Not even close to drunk. Barely even tipsy."

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeats, hands planted firmly on her arms. She can tell he's trying desperately not to move.

"You won't," she promises, peppering another kiss to his jaw, to the column of his throat. "Couldn't hurt me."

"Kate," Rick sighs. Her name falls somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

Finally, she pauses, settles back on her haunches. She can feel him twitch beneath her. "If you don't..."

He shakes his head, seems frustrated with himself. " _God_ , no. I do. You don't realize how badly I do." He runs a hand through his tousled hair and she watches as he tries to compose himself. She wriggles a little and gets a pretty good idea of how badly he wants this. "I just don't want you to regret this."

"I won't."

"You don't _know_ that, Kate, and I don't want... I don't think—"

"Stop thinking, then. Don't think." Rolling her hips, she smirks into his mouth. "Just feel."

Rick finally, _finally_ , foregoes any further protests and returns the kiss with fervor. The force almost takes her by surprise and it elicits a squeak from her throat, but within moments a switch seems to have been flipped.

His movements slow, become gentle, his touch once again feather-like against her skin. But this time it's nothing like it was before, nothing like when he thought she was about to break. There's purpose to it. Her skin tingles beneath his touch, fire erupting deep in her stomach.

Nimble fingers find their way beneath the hem of her sweater, seeking, and she helps him, raises her arms so he can lift the fabric from her body. Goosebumps arise as the chill of the air greets her skin, and for a second she just stares down at him, awed at what she finds lurking in his dark eyes.

Gently, Rick wraps one arm around her back and braces the other on the mattress as he flips them over, traps her beneath his body. He smiles at her and her heart jumps in her chest, swells. Leaning down, he leaves a lingering kiss against her lips before he moves his attention to her injured shoulder, dusting a light kiss to the bruised skin.

As her eyes slip closed she loses herself, thinks this is exactly how it's supposed to feel.

* * *

In the morning she wakes early, dislodges herself from his embrace and tip toes until she reaches the bathroom. Shedding what little clothes remain on her body, really just his t-shirt she'd slipped on in the middle of the night, she steps into the shower.

As water cascades onto her skin, she stands with her face under the spray, hands covering her closed eyes. _Shit_.

Their friendship was sweet, wonderful, really, forged from weeks and weeks of spending time together and getting to know each other. And she just had to go and fuck it all up. By fucking him, of course, which brings a wry smile to her face accompanied by a self-deprecating huff.

(She tells herself that's all it was. Nothing more, despite the burning in her chest, the tingling in her toes.)

She shakes her head, runs her hands down her face. Water beats against her skin, trickles down her cheeks and makes it impossible to open her eyes. It was stupid. _Stupid_.

She's leaving, flying back to the other side of the country in mere hours. Rick's staying in California. One night wrapped in each other's arms, limbs tangled together isn't going to change that. A mistake. A glorious, passionate, toe-curling mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

(Her bones ache at the thought, the memory of his lips trailing across her skin, the weight of his body on top of hers.)

Letting her guard down was her own fault, as was allowing herself to fall into his arms. Or maybe not falling, more like catapulting herself. She takes full responsibility.

When she steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around her body, she tells herself the flush painted across her chest, her neck, is from the heat of the spray. It has nothing to do with where her mind's wandered.

Rick's awake, propped up in the bed, when she finally forces herself back into the bedroom. His chest is bare and she steadfastly avoids looking, forces her gaze elsewhere. It doesn't help that the most acceptable place to focus on is his face, which looks so joyful and utterly sated, his hair rustled and adorable.

"Morning," he says. He's watching her carefully and it almost makes her uncomfortable, something like guilt spreading through her system.

She purses her lips. "Morning. I have to get ready to go to the airport."

Moving around the room, she pointedly ignores the set of eyes on her as she gathers her things. Heat flames her cheeks as she picks up her discarded clothes from last night; she pushes back the desire she feels building, repeats to herself that it was a _mistake_.

(What's that saying? If you tell yourself something enough you'll start to believe it?)

Tossing them into her suitcase, she moves on.

"Kate," Rick calls. Once, twice, three times until she finally halts her movements, stands straight and flicks her eyes in his direction. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what? I have to pack if I'm going to be on time for my flight."

He slides from the bed, pulls his boxers over his hips and rounds the bed. "That's not what I meant and you know it," he says, placing a hand on her forearm. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't look at him either. She can't. "Don't shut me out like this."

"I'm—"

"You are," he cuts off what he knows is an objection. "And listen, I get it. But this is exactly what I was talking about last night." One brow raises. "I didn't want you to regret it. Because I _don't_ , Kate. Was it fast? Absolutely. But that was... I don't even know how to _explain_ how that felt."

Blowing out a breath, she takes a step away from him. "I let myself get too caught up in my emotions." She pauses at the way his face falls, even more guilt gnawing at her insides. "I don't regret it," she admits quietly. Because she doesn't regret it, not what happened, never what happened. She doesn't regret him. "But it was, what, a parting gift? I'm _leaving_ , Rick."

"I don't think of it as a parting gift." One hand cradles her cheek, forces her to look up at him. "That implies an ending. This is just the beginning."

Kate shakes her head. "You don't know what you're talking about. We'll be on opposite sides of the country," she reminds him. "I'm not—I don't do well with relationships. You'll only get hurt."

"I don't believe that. You told me you were icy, unfeeling, but that wasn't true, either."

"This is different. With relationships I'm... Do you know what the first thing I did when I got back from the Olympics was? Break up with my boyfriend," she tells him, lets her arms fall limp at her sides. "We had been together for over a year and I broke up with him just like that. I should've been sad, right, should've felt something for the man I'd been with for so long, but I felt _nothing_ , Rick. If that's not cold, what is?"

"That doesn't make you cold, Kate, it just means you were with the wrong person."

He sounds so confident, like there's absolutely no question about it. And maybe there isn't. Her ex never was the right person, but he was there. It was convenient, but it was never love.

This time, she can see herself being happy. Truly happy. With him, the man she didn't even intend on _liking_ when this whole thing started, and it scares the shit out of her. Pulling away, she returns to plucking her things from various places around the room and shoving them into suitcases.

"Rick, please. I'm—I'm sorry, okay?"

He deflates, some of the light draining from his eyes, and she hates herself for it.

"I'm sorry too."

No, she doesn't regret him. She regrets how much she doesn't deserve him.

* * *

She goes back to New York. She skates.

Things return to normal.

Only it doesn't feel normal anymore.

* * *

Whens she finally visits her parents, her mother comments on it. Says something's different, says she seems unhappier now that she's home.

Kate pulls her lips into a tight line and lets out a sigh.

"It's nothing, Mom," she promises. With a forced smile, the one she uses for the cameras, she gives her best attempt at a reassuring nod. "Just getting used to the routine again."

Johanna Beckett doesn't buy it, but neither does she.

* * *

A week after she flies out of California, after the night they spent together, Rick sends his first text. She's one part surprised he even reached out at all given how she left things, how she treated him, and one part surprised it took him this long.

She leaves it unread on her phone, the little notification driving her more insane the longer it sits there, but she doesn't allow herself to cave. She's doing it for his own benefit, she tells herself.

The next text comes a few days later, and then again a few days after that. It continues for a few weeks, a new text every few days, but the end result is the same each time. Resolve intact, Kate doesn't read them.

But she doesn't delete them either, and maybe that's what eats at her the most. That she _can't_.

One day during a break in training, her exhausted body slumping onto one of the benches just outside the rink, she unlocks her phone. Bottom lip worried between her teeth, her thumb hovers over his message thread. His contact photo stares at her from the screen, his face stirring up a mess of feelings she's tried so hard to repress these past few weeks.

( _Tried_ , her brain mocks. She never succeeded, only made herself suffer.)

With a deep breath she presses his name.

She reads them.

 _I hope your shoulder's healing nicely._

 _It's weird not being in the studio. I think I'm going a little crazy. What do normal people do with down time?_

 _The producers called me today_ — _looks like I'm going to be a pro next season, too. I know I have you to thank for this one. So... thank you._

Her lips spread into a genuine smile at that one, and she lets her chin rest in her open palm. He deserves to be a pro. He deserves a chance to win that damn mirror ball, in all its ridiculous sparkly glory, even if it's not with her.

 _I read that you're training for the next Olympics already. Go reclaim that title, Kate. Show Europe your win was anything but a stroke of luck_ — _show them just how good you really are. I know you can._

 _I miss you._

Finally, weeks worth of knots loosen in her chest as she texts him back.

 _I miss you too_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Words fail, but a genuine _thank you_ to you wonderful people will have to suffice.


	7. Chapter 7

The new season is set to start in a few days and Rick's partner is a young singer with bright eyes and an exuberant personality. Their pre-season interviews are plastered all over the internet and though she tells herself she _will not_ watch them, she can't help herself. After the first interview it's plain to see the girl's the polar opposite of Kate, especially back when they first met.

She has absolutely no right to be jealous— _you_ turned him away, she reminds herself if not a bit bitterly—but she's powerless to stop the tingling in her veins every time the girl looks at him a little too sweetly.

Closing her laptop, she slides it across the couch and forces herself to focus on something else. Anything else. She's performing one of her routines on The Today Show in a week, her first appearance on the rink at Rockefeller Center, but even that's not enough to truly shift her attention.

The day before the premiere, she impulse buys a plane ticket to Los Angeles.

* * *

She shows up at LAX feeling ridiculous, a little stupid, and all too much like a school girl with the twisting in her stomach. Now that she's actually _here_ , she has entirely no idea what she's doing.

They've had a few conversations in the time since she finally responded to the poor guy, and Rick, bless him, hasn't brought up her departure. He's kept it in neutral territory but has still managed to talk to her as if she didn't completely blow him off. She doesn't deserve his level of kindness, but she's grateful for it.

Standing in the terminal, carry on hanging from one arm, she feels it might be a tad unfair to just show up like this, to spring herself on him after shutting him out so harshly.

Kate berates herself for giving him the cold shoulder after sleeping with him. After mauling him, really, because _she's_ the one who initiated the whole thing. She just—she needed time. To think, to... get herself together. She thought she needed to get back to her normal routine, to return to some semblance of familiarity.

Turns out she was wrong.

It didn't help in the slightest. Her old normal doesn't feel much at all like normal anymore. If anything, being home and jumping right back into what she knows best has made her realize how empty her personal life is. She has friends, of course, has people she'll hang out with occasionally outside of the rink, but it was _different_ in LA.

It was different because of Rick, and she was terrified of admitting she wanted to be with him, of the prospect of starting something so new. She's always been her worst enemy—she knows this, and she's working on it, trying to be better.

As she catches a car to take her to her hotel, she hopes she's making the right decision.

* * *

Tom responds to her email quickly, assures her there's always a place for her in the ballroom when she wants to visit. She'd asked rather last minute (an hour ago, to be exact) if there was a way she'd be able to get into the studio audience for the premiere.

"I want to surprise Rick," she'd written in the email, because that's not a lie. Of course, she's not sure he _wants_ this particular surprise.

Brushing it off for now, she tampers a smile as she closes her laptop. She is officially going to the first show of the season.

She's not really sure what she would've done had she not gotten a ticket. She _did_ fly here completely on a whim, figured she'd worry about that bridge when she came to it. Logically, she supposes she would've waited outside, rooted herself in the parking lot near his car.

This is, admittedly, a much better outcome.

Pulling the dress she'd chosen for the occasion from her bag—a simple black dress with detailed lace and a low v neck—she lays it across the back of the chair.

Tomorrow, she'll tell him.

* * *

It feels weird being in the ballroom without actually _being_ in the ballroom.

The opening pro number sends shivers down her spine; her eyes immediately find him and she can't help the soft smile that creeps across her face. He looks so happy up there doing what he loves most, and she swells with pride. He really _does_ deserve this spot.

She leans back a little, tries to make herself as invisible as she can. She doesn't want him to see her until after the show; she tells herself it's because it'd be a distraction to him should he notice her sooner, but truthfully she's more than a little nervous about his reaction.

All of the couples do fairly well for it being the first week. There's an Olympic gymnast this go 'round, and Kate knows that'll give her a leg up over the competition. Like skating, gymnasts have the artistic knowledge and flexibility that prove extremely beneficial to dancing.

The media will likely call her a ringer, much like they did with Kate, but things don't always go as planned. They can't discount anybody just yet.

When Rick and his partner come out and stand in front of the orchestra while their package plays, Kate's heart leaps into her throat. It really does appear to be a cute partnership—the girl's younger than she thought, just only turning 19, and she laughs at the initial jealousy.

The girl's just excited to be in the competition, wants to do her best, and Kate's already rooting for them.

Of course, she'd root for him regardless of partner, but she genuinely wants to see them do well.

They have the samba, a difficult ask for a week one dance, but they pull it off nicely. Two sevens and an eight from Bruno—not too shabby, not at all, and she finds herself whistling as they make their way up to the sky box.

When she hears him speak, the soft timbre of his voice, a new wave of anxiety and excitement bubbles beneath her skin.

* * *

He first catches sight of her after the show ends. He weaves through the sea of reporters in the ballroom, each of them waiting for an interview with the couples, and stops in his tracks. Kate watches on nervously as he does a double take, but then his face transforms into a broad smile.

Rushing over, he foregoes all pretenses and wraps her into a hug. "Kate," he breathes. "You're—you're _here_."

"Yeah, I'm here." She laughs as he pulls back, some of the nervous energy seeping from her pores. His partner wanders over a minute later, and Kate shifts her attention. "You two did really great tonight."

Rick just beams.

"I've got pretty big shoes to fill," the singer says. "You two were on fire last season."

After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, his partner points over towards one of the reporters, tells him she'll wait over there. When she's gone, Rick's eyes find hers once more.

"I can't believe you're here." His fingers wrap around her hand, squeeze. "What _are_ you doing here? You should've said you were coming, I could've picked you up from the airport or something."

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, I uh—I kind of have something I need to tell you."

His eyes search hers. "Are you okay?"

Her hands are clammy and she gently extracts them from his grip.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just—not exactly something I thought should be done over the phone." His mouth opens, but she shakes her head, gestures towards the ballroom floor. "Rick, go. Do your interviews. We'll talk after, okay?"

Reluctantly he nods, agrees to speak to the reporter first, but not before giving her one last once-over. He takes in the rigidness of her posture, the hesitance written across her face, the hands resting shakily over her stomach.

Something washes over him, flashes in his eyes, but Kate just chuckles, points again towards the reporter currently waiting with his partner.

" _Go_. I'll still be here when you're done."

* * *

Kate sits patiently in one of the chairs in the back of the audience and watches as, one by one, reporters and contestants alike begin to file from the ballroom. She remembers these nights, having to go through line after line of reporters, each eager to ask them about the night's performances.

This, she doesn't miss.

She sees Rick in the crowd; he says goodbye to his partner and sees her out, waves politely to his fellow dancers as they go, and then he's searching for her.

It doesn't take long to find her—she's one of about five people still waiting off of the floor—and he bounces towards her with long, purposeful strides.

"Hey," she greets quietly. "Finished already?"

"Yeah, there weren't as many this week. A few couldn't make it, so we all get to skip out early."

"Great. Do you want to...?"

"Yeah, of course. Do you have a hotel room? Or we could go back to my place, it's only twenty minutes away."

Kate stands, grabs her bag from the seat beside her. "That's fine. I'll follow you?"

He guides her from the building, his hand falling to her lower back. They fall into perfect step and it's almost as if she never left.

* * *

He's jittery. It's the first thing she notices upon arrival. His hands aren't nearly as steady as she knows they should be as he unlocks his apartment door and gestures for her to go ahead.

Something's... off.

There's something on his mind and his face does little to hide the fact. She doesn't understand it; he seemed fine when he'd first seen her on the floor, almost bordering on _too_ excited considering what she's done. But there's been some kind of a shift since he went to talk to that reporter and she can't quite put her finger on it.

Maybe he's finally realized she's _here_ , that she treated him like shit, and he's rethinking his decision to talk to her.

She takes a seat at his kitchen counter, puts her bag on the stool beside her and rests her elbows on the surface.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concerned eyes on him.

He nods but it's a little too fast, a little too bobble head. "What? Yeah—I'm fine. I should be the one asking _you_ that."

"I'm all right. It's been pretty crazy, lately, I guess, but everything's okay." She takes a breath, gesturing at nothing in particular. " _This_ is a little nerve-wracking, but..."

Training for the Olympics this time around, in theory, should be easier. She's done it before, she knows what to expect, so in that aspect she supposes it is weight off of her shoulders. But it's not all that much easier, not really—coming back to defend her title means extra scrutiny. Everyone expects more from her this time, especially in the aftermath of her last win.

There are no more newspapers blasting her as _Kate Beckett_ , _arriviste_ , but she knows she still has a lot to prove, if only to herself.

Rick gives a nod but doesn't say much else as he drops his keys into the bowl he keeps on the counter top. He braces himself against the edge, eyes trained on his hands for a moment before they lift to her.

He regards her in a way she can only describe as _odd_ , and she gives him a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry," he rushes out, and... well, that's nowhere near what she was expecting.

"You're... sorry? _I'm_ the one that should be sorry. I _am_ sorry."

She's the one that blew all of this up, ruined the good thing they had going. What could he possibly have to be sorry for?

Sighing, he slumps a little, leans his weight against the hardwood cabinets beneath the counter. "No, this isn't your fault," he says, running a hand through his hair. "We both just—we weren't thinking straight. _I_ wasn't thinking straight and I— _god_ , I should've stopped, made sure we..."

"Hey." She reaches over to rest a small hand on top of his. "I wanted it, too. I was very much a willing participant. If I remember correctly, I _started_ it."

Rick head bobs. "I just—your silence, the way you pulled back for over a month. It makes so much sense now," he comments aloud, his voice low. "I'm sorry you were alone, Kate. Whatever you decide to do, know I'm going to support you... no matter what."

She blinks, forehead creased. "Thank you," she says, slowly. "I wasn't alone, though—I went back to my rink, to training."

"Still. If I had known, I would've been there," he assures her, and she cocks her head, confused. He clears his throat. "Do you, um—do you have any idea what you're going to do?"

"I'll keep training and take it one day at a time, I guess."

If she's honest, she hasn't really thought about much else post-training. Well, training and hopefully _something_ with him. If he's still interested.

"Is that safe? You know, all of the jumps and stuff."

"As safe as they've always been. Rick, my shoulder's completely healed—you don't have to worry about that," she says, giving him a reassuring nod.

Rick blinks at her. "Safe for the baby, Kate."

" _Baby?_ "

"Yeah. You're... you're pregnant." His voice is confident at first, though now it's a little uncertain. "Aren't you?"

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. "I'm not pregnant."

His mouth drops open. "You're not pregnant?" Kate gives a quick shake of her head. "Why did you look so nervous?"

"Because I didn't know if you'd be okay with me just _showing up here_ , Rick, surprising you after... well, everything. I thought I was protecting you, in some weird backwards kind of way, but I went about it all wrong and I'm sorry."

Rick shakes his head. "I won't lie and say it didn't hurt, because it did, but I'd never _not_ want to see you, Kate," he promises, resting a hand over hers. "Once we started talking again I at least figured we were still _friends_. Right?"

"Of course." The knowledge that he's not mad at her, doesn't hate her, allows the tension in her shoulders to relax and she releases the breath she's been holding for hours. "And I promise we can circle back to this conversation and you can ask whatever you want, but I just— _why_ exactly did you think I was pregnant?"

He lets out a small, apprehensive chuckle. "Well, the nerves for one. I mean, you're never nervous," he says. She's ready to correct him, tell him she _does_ get nervous she's just learned through time to channel it into adrenaline, but he continues. "Your hands were resting so carefully on your stomach, like you were guarding something. And then you say you have to tell me something and my mind flies to how it's been a few months and we didn't use anything and you completely dropped communication and I just..."

"Is that why you looked so freaked out all of a sudden?" He gives a sheepish nod. "Rick, I'm sorry," she laughs. "If I'd have known that's the conclusion you'd drawn I would have told you right away. I'm on the pill—I had it covered."

Rick heaves out a deep breath. "So you _didn't_ come here to tell me you were pregnant?"

He asks one last time, just to be sure.

"I'm not pregnant and, if I am, it's not yours." Rick blanches, and it really shouldn't but his reaction gives her more confidence. The thought of her with another man doesn't sit well with him. Good to know. "I'm _kidding_. The answer is still no."

"Kate..." He huffs before sobering up, looking to her. "Then what did you come here to tell me? That you couldn't tell me over the phone?"

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she lifts her eyes to him. It's now or never, and she sure as hell didn't fly across the country to leave more of a coward than she was upon arrival.

"That I love you," she says finally, lets the words fall from her lips with a small, almost awed chuckle. She feels lighter, somehow. "I'm sorry that I just _left_ like that and shut you out. I'm not good at this kind of thing, Rick, but I never meant to hurt you. I knew I could be happy with you and that scared me, so I did what I do best and I ran. I'm so sorry."

He's silent for a moment, his mouth open, and she's almost nervous that she's messed this up. That he doesn't feel the same after all, that she read too much into every action, every reaction—

But then his eyes brighten, his lips curling into a wide smile, and he moves around the counter, takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her lips.

"That's pretty convenient," he breathes, "because I love you too, Kate Beckett."

Kate smiles into the next kiss, her fingers curling themselves in his hair.

"This time we should talk things out before we go any further, yeah?" Rick suggests with a laugh.

She nods against his forehead. "Yes, definitely."

"So," he hums, peering down at her, "you think you could be happy with me?"

Her tongue peeks out between her teeth. "Don't let it go to your head," she teases, "but yeah. I do. I went back to what was routine for me before all of this, but I realized something was different. It didn't _feel_ as good as I thought it used to."

"I really think so, too." They're quiet for a moment, just holding each other, before he speaks again. "You think we'll be okay with all of this long distance stuff?"

Ever since her breakdown after their night together, she hasn't really been that preoccupied with the long distance. She focused more on the _I'm not good at relationships_ angle as a reason to run.

She might mess this up. She _will_ make mistakes, but they both will.

Sure, they'll be on opposite coasts, but with their jobs there's plenty opportunity for travel. She trains on the West Coast for a few months out of the year, and _Dancing with the Stars_ does a decent amount of New York promotion. Not to mention the live tour that'll take him to the East Coast for a few dates, and the other skating tours she'll be on.

Between Skype and impromptu surprise visits, they'll see plenty of each other.

It scares her, but she thinks she'd follow this man anywhere.

Burrowing deeper into his embrace, she lets out a contented sigh. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head before resting his chin there.

"Yeah, I think we'll be just fine."

* * *

 **A/N** : There we have it, folks. I can't thank you enough for keeping with me on this little AU journey! Please note the epilogue might take a few extra days to post, just because I'm going to be super busy and may not have time for edits as quickly as I usually do.


	8. Epilogue I

**Epilogue**

 _2009_

"Kate, you need to take it easy."

She bristles, her chest heaving with exertion, hair slick with sweat as beads of moisture pepper her skin. "I'm _fine_."

It's what she says when she's most definitely _not_ fine, and he thinks that's what's concerning most of all; she sees no problem with the way she's overworking herself, driving herself into the ground.

They haven't seen each other for a while, nearly six months due to her hectic schedule and the most recent _Dancing with the Stars_ season. Now that the show is finally on hiatus for a few months, he's spending the break in New York with Kate.

He arrived two days ago and had noticed something was _off_ but couldn't put his finger on it, not until she'd left for the rink and didn't come back until two in the morning, her body limp and practically falling over. She trains long hours, he knows, has always known, but this is different. Getting up at 4:00 in the morning, going to the rink or the gym and not coming back for nearly 22 hours is not normal.

"You're not fine," he counters, standing his ground. He'd finally decided to go to the gym and find her around 5:00 when she didn't come back for dinner. "I've been here almost three full days, Kate, and I haven't even seen you for more than a few hours."

Kate sighs, rests a hand against her ribs. "I'm sorry, okay," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm just... the Olympics are in a few months, Rick, this is the final push. It'll all go back to normal afterwards, I promise."

"But you'll tone it down?"

Despite her reassuring nod, the smile she plasters on her pale face for him, he's unsettled.

* * *

She holds true to her word. For a while.

When he wakes she's gone, already having been at the rink for hours by the time he even rouses from a good night's sleep, but she comes back to her apartment around 10:00.

"To what do I owe the pleasure," he teases, and she rolls her eyes as she peels off her damp long-sleeve shirt, tosses it into the wash.

"You were right," she comments over her shoulder. "You're here to spend your break with me, so we should actually _see_ each other."

His playful response about how he could get used to being told he's right dies on his lips when she lifts her tank top from her body, reveals a protruding spine that certainly wasn't there when he last saw her and a shrinking waist-line.

Her face was thinner, sure, but he attributed it to the training. They've barely had time to see each other yet, not with how long she's gone, and she's been wearing baggy t-shirts; he had no idea she'd lost so much weight.

She throws on another loose-fitting top and spins around to him with a smile, brushes her hand across his shoulder as she passes. She's working herself ragged, it's no surprise she's lost this much weight. And so Rick doesn't say anything, keeps his mouth shut and forces a smile.

Head cocked as she pushes a pair of earrings into her ears, she looks at him. "Have anything in mind?"

"How about we go for lunch?"

"Of all the possible things you could plan for us to do, lunch is your first choice?"

He shrugs. "I'm hungry, and I doubt you've eaten more than a protein bar today."

Kate pauses for a moment, her features well-schooled, before nodding. "Okay," she says, dusting a kiss to his cheek as she brushes past him. "Let me get my coat."

She doesn't decline lunch, and his shoulders relax a bit.

* * *

She orders a salad and water. It's nothing out of the ordinary for her, but he watches carefully as she nibbles at dry lettuce.

"Do you want to try these fries? I think they used some new seasoning, they're _really_ good," he says, holding his plate out enticingly.

Kate shakes her head. "No thanks, I'm good."

When she pushes her half-eaten salad away and opts to simply sip at the water, the tension in his shoulders returns.

* * *

He bites his tongue for a while, ignores her odd behavior and chocks it up to this just being how she gets during training. They didn't know each other while she was training for the 2006 Olympics, so he really has no idea how she operates, but he finally decides enough is enough when she slowly but surely reverts back to how it was when he first arrived.

She grabs an apple from the counter before walking out the door, tossing him a wave like an afterthought.

"Kate, what are you doing," he whispers to himself as he closes the refrigerator door and moves out of the kitchen.

He gets dressed, makes himself some lunch, and then decides he'll spend the day at the rink. If he watches her work on her routine maybe it'll ease some of his nerves, show him he's just imaging things, that this is just how she gets when she's in full-training mode.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" she asks as soon as she walks in, skin flushed from her workout.

"I thought I'd come watch you. I've done it before so I didn't think it'd be a problem."

"No, it's fine." Kate merely nods. "I have to go get changed."

And then she's gone, disappears behind a door down the hall, leaving him to stand just outside the rink. When she returns in a pair of leggings and a vest over a long-sleeve shirt, she appears to have tossed some cold water onto her face, fixed her hair.

"Where's your coach?" he asks, looking around. Usually the woman's here with Kate.

"Oh, she's not coming today. It's technically my day off, but—"

"It's your _day off?_ "

She meets his gaze. "Yeah," she says quietly. "And look, I know what you're going to say, but I promise I'll only be here a few hours and then we can go. We'll watch movies at my apartment and chill out on the couch. I promise."

Rick exhales through his nose, pulls his lips into a thin line.

She presses a kiss to his lips, rests a hand on his bicep. "I promise," she repeats.

With that she turns on her heels—or blades, really—and skates onto the ice.

"Hey," she calls out, catches his attention. She points to the far end of the rink where an old-school boombox sits on a ledge. "Can you work the music for me? Hit play?"

Nodding, he wanders over and presses the button, listens to her music fill the rink. She moves from her starting position and does a full run-through of the her short program. It's beautiful, but he'd expect nothing less. It is different from her other programs, though, more airy, light.

The free program comes next and it's faster paced, more aggressive. A polar opposite to the first, but stunning and more like her. She does it _well_.

"A few more times and then we'll go," she says, fixing to start a fifth run-through of both programs. "There are a few little things I want to clean up."

"You should take a break," Rick suggests. She hasn't stopped since she asked him to start playing the music, and it's been at least two hours since then. "The programs will still be there in like half an hour."

But Kate shakes her head. "I'm okay. Play, please."

Sighing, he presses play.

Halfway through the free program he watches her lose steam. She has to push to glide across the ice and as she comes up on her Triple Axel, a jump she's since perfected, he gets a sinking feeling in his gut.

She pushes off of her toe-pick, spins in the air, but comes crashing to the ice in a moment that has him reliving the dreaded _Stars on Ice_ fall. He rushes onto the ice and slides up to her, finds her trying to sit up and brush shredded ice off of her leggings.

"Kate..."

"I'm fine," she says automatically. "Over-rotated."

"You're not," he retorts, his voice harder than he'd anticipated, but he doesn't try to tame it. "Kate, you can't keep _doing this_."

"Doing what, Rick? Training? I _have to_."

"No, doing _this_. You're working yourself into the ground, Kate!"

Pushing herself from the ice, she stands in front of him, jaw set. "You have _no_ idea..."

"Like hell I don't! I've been here for nearly three weeks and I've held my tongue. I've let your weird behavior go, I've watched you leave before the sun even rises and come back well into the next morning! I've seen you come back _so exhausted_ that you can barely make it to the bed before your legs give out."

One hand finds purchase on her hips, the other gestures while she speaks. "It's called hard work!"

"It's called an eating disorder!"

The air becomes stale around them the second the words fly from his mouth. He hadn't meant for it to come out like this; he'd wanted to talk to her quietly, in private, ask her if she's okay or if she's relapsed. But he's been holding all of this in for so long, once he started he just couldn't seem to stop.

She takes a full glide backwards, her face pale.

"Excuse me?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Rick takes a deep breath, steels himself. "You're not _eating_ , Kate. Do you realize that? You have a protein bar or half a dry salad all day and then you go and exercise for _hours_ , train for _hours,_ with nothing in your stomach. Do you even know how much weight you've lost?" When he gets no reply, he trudges on. "Your ribs might as well be mountain ranges. You're running on _fumes_ here and your body is giving out on you."

Kate says nothing, driven into a stunned silence as she stares at him.

"That's why you didn't land your jump. I watched you lose steam because you're training yourself into _nothing_ ; you didn't over-rotate, your body's telling you to take a break and eat something so it can do what it has to do. I love you, Kate, and I can't sit back and watch you disappear back into this rabbit hole."

Silence.

Without a word, she turns around and skates towards the exit. Rick runs a frustrated hand down his face, eyes falling closed.

* * *

He finds her in the changing room, sitting on a bench with her elbows resting on her thighs, face hidden in her open palms.

Carefully he sidles up beside her, takes a seat. His hand finds its way to her back, fingers brushing over her shoulder blades. "Hey."

She takes a deep breath and lifts her head, turns to face him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, glassy, and there are streaks of tears staining her cheeks. His heart drops; he didn't mean to make her _cry_.

"Kate, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

She shakes her head. "No. You were right."

"I was right?"

Somehow being right doesn't feel as great now.

"I didn't mean to. I mean, it wasn't intentional," she says quietly, wiping beneath her eyes. "You asked me if I realized what I was doing? I didn't. It didn't occur to me that I was barely eating, or training harder, longer than I normally would. I was just doing what I usually do and I guess somewhere along the way it kind of just... spiraled. I want these programs to be my _best_ yet and it was like—it was like tunnel vision."

Rick nods, encouraging her to continue.

Looking up at the ceiling, she blinks back fresh tears. " _God_ , I... I wasn't purposely skipping meals, Rick. I wasn't trying to lose weight. I didn't—this isn't like it was before. I know it looks bad, but I'm not—I'm not starving myself. Not consciously, anyway."

A little tension releases from his shoulders and his heart rate slows, returns from its erratic state.

"Okay," he says finally. He believes her. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. But I am sorry—I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It was just the heat of the moment and I was so scared you'd relapsed and then I had to watch you fall _again._ "

"No," she promises again, grabbing his hand. She puts her head in her free hand. "I can't believe I didn't see it. I knew I was tired, and yeah some of my pants were loose but I just kept pushing myself and pushing myself because the Olympics are right around the corner and it didn't seem like a big deal. _Months,_ Rick. They're months away."

"And the pressure's getting to you."

She sighs. "I didn't think so. I thought I was doing fine because I've been through this before, you know, but I'm not and it is. What if I go out there and choke and it's 2006 all over again, another Olympic upset. More of the entire world believing I was nothing but a fluke. All eyes are going to be on me going into this season and I can't mess it up."

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her into his side. "You won't," he tells her. "You're one of the most talented skaters I've ever seen, and I _know_ you'll kill any program you put out there. Hell, you were perfect on the ice today. You know, until you collapsed."

Kate elbows his side. "I didn't collapse."

" _Fell_ , fine," he amends. "But if that's how you skate after you've worked yourself to the bone and withered away to almost nothing—" He ignores her muted growl. "—imagine how well you'll do after you start training properly?"

She gasps at his side. "Oh god. There's not enough time. I've spent almost six months diving head first into this—this _whatever_ I've been doing. I have less than _half_ of that to reverse the damage."

"Breathe," he coaxes, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. "You can do it. And I'll help you, okay? You're not in this alone."

"You shouldn't have to deal with—"

Rick shakes his head. "Don't. I'm not _dealing_ with anything. I love you—all the baggage you come with is mine too."

Cheeks still wet, she manages a smile, dusts a kiss to his lips.

"I love you."

* * *

 _2010 Olympics_

Kate stands in front of the mirror in the locker room, smoothing her palms down the front of her dress.

"You look beautiful."

She jumps, twists to find Rick leaning against the wall. Head whipping from left to right to make sure no one else is walking in, she focuses back on him. "What are you doing in here?"

"Snuck in."

"Rick," she chuckles, bracing her hands against hist chest. "You shouldn't be back here."

"I couldn't let you stew in your nerves all alone, could I?" He shoots her a charming grin. "I just wanted you to know that you're going to be _wonderful_. You're gonna show everyone up, show them how it's really done."

Kate rolls her eyes. "I don't know about that."

"I do."

The confidence he has in her is astounding, has warmth spreading through her chilled veins. It's that belief in her that helped her these past five months, helped her climb out from beneath the crippling weight of everyone's expectations. She feels infinitely better now than she did when he'd first visited in New York.

She's never needed anyone else to get her to where she is now. She still doesn't; she's strong and capable on her own, but having someone at her side to call her on her bullshit and tell her when she's getting in too deep is, she's realizing, invaluable.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

He hums. "I've been told once or twice."

She laughs, presses a kiss to his lips. "Always modest. Now go," she says, shoving at his arms, turning him around. "Get out of here."

"Break a leg! Not literally, though, because that'd be bad."

"Good _bye_ , Rick."

Looking over his shoulder, he gives her a smile. "You'll rock it."

Her heart lodges itself in her throat as she tosses him a small wave.

* * *

Held steady in the starting position for her short dance, she takes a few deep breaths, eyes closed, before the music of _Scheherazade_ fills the air. Her skates propel her across the ice on autopilot, the moves second nature.

Her grace is evident, the airy way in which she moves around the rink. It's where she excels—she makes it look effortless and, despite the bad press, it's always been something they've praised about her skating.

Her jumps are perfectly timed and beautifully executed, and the roars from the crowd when she lands her last combination send her adrenaline into high drive. She manages to stay in character until the second the music stops and then she's grinning, bending at the waist to pick up one of the flowers thrown onto the ice.

When she steps into the kiss and cry she takes a seat on the bench, puts the blade guards onto her skates as she waits.

Her stomach is in knots.

76.52

She's currently in second place, just behind Russia's top ladies single skater.

Rick catches her as soon as she's off camera, out of the kiss and cry, a small teddy bear in his outstretched arms.

"Aren't gifts supposed to wait until after the medals?" She teases him but takes the bear, holds it tight to her chest.

"If it makes a difference this isn't your actual congratulatory gift," he says, and she raises a brow. "I stole it off the ice."

Kate's mouth gapes. " _Rick_."

"After you skated! So it was meant for you anyway!"

Rolling her eyes, she can't help but laugh. "Thank you. So generous." She pauses. "So, what's my _real_ gift?"

"You'll find out tonight," he says with waggling brows.

"You're incorrigible."

"You love me for it." He grabs her hand, kisses her cheek. "But really, you were beautiful out there. Totally underscored."

"You don't know how the scoring works, do you?"

"Well, no, but I know it should've been higher," he says confidently.

"My cheerleader."

* * *

Her nerves are shot by the time the free program comes around the following day. A good night's rest came easily with Rick by her side, her body relaxed and sated after he delivered on his promise of a celebration. He was a source of comfort and warmth, but now that she's about to be called onto the ice she can't stop the trembling of her hands.

This is it. The last chance she has to slide into first place.

With a practiced smile she takes the ice, does a small circle before stopping into her starting position. This program is more energetic, more up-tempo, and she thinks this is probably one of her favorite programs she's ever done. When the music starts she closes her eyes for the briefest second and imagines she's back in New York in her rink.

She drowns out the sounds of the area, forgets about the judges and the fact she's at the Olympics. Right now she's alone, shaking for herself.

Smirk plastered onto her face, she opens her eyes, lets go, and just _enjoys_ it.

* * *

150.06

It's the highest score she's ever gotten for a free skate, and she nearly falls off the bench when it flashes on the screen. She thought she was hearing things when it was announced over the loud speaker.

She hugs her coach and then flings herself at Rick, wraps her arms around his neck.

With a combined score of 226.58 and two skaters left to go, she can't allow herself to get too excited. Beating her own personal best is thrilling, but it says nothing about everyone else's scores. She hasn't won anything yet.

"You've got this. I know it."

Kate grips him tighter.

* * *

Two points.

She wins gold by two points. Normally she'd be a little put off, annoyed by the small gap and decide she could've done better. But she only feels joy. Pride.

"I told you," Rick murmurs into her neck, lips brushing her flushed skin. "I'm _so_ proud of you. You did it."

Fists clenched in the back of his shirt, she feels tears fall onto her cheeks.

As she stands on the podium, gold medal clutched in her hands, it's a complete turnaround from four years ago. Instead of challenging, competitive, the smile on her face is one of genuine exuberance. Instead of fighting horrid rumors, she's met with supportive grins and congratulations.

Instead of a boyfriend at home she's itching to break up with, she has a boyfriend here with her, cheering her on from the sidelines. A man she loves, who's brought out a side of her she for so long forgot existed.

This time, she's truly _happy_.

* * *

 **A/N** : Okay, here's the thing. Editing turned into reworking and reworking turned into writing _more._ Basically, this thing ended up being super long so I've split it into two. Look out for epilogue pt. II soon!


	9. Epilogue II

**Epilogue pt. II**

 _2011_

"That's different," Rick squeals, following a grinning Kate through the rink. "You went from the ice to the floor, which is arguably _much_ easier than the other way around!"

"Don't be such a baby," she laughs, backing onto the ice so she's in front of him, his gloved hands in hers. "Just take a step onto the ice. Yup, just like that."

Once he's on the ice she begins to move, skates backwards while pulling him, to the best of her ability, along with her. Every time he tries to move his feet they slide all over the place, threaten to take the both of them down.

It's hard to believe in the years they've known each other he's watched her, cheered her on from the sidelines, but has never once stepped foot onto the ice.

"You have to keep them steady."

Rick huffs. "Not fair, you're a professional. Of _course_ it's going to look easy when you do it!"

Letting go of his hands, Kate skates around him, laughs as he does his best to keep upright. She leads him over to the boards and lets him use them for leverage for a bit, just until he feels like he's got his feet under him.

"You think you can skate with me, now?" she asks, offering a hand.

He grabs hold. "As long as you don't go fast."

True to her word, she doesn't speed off. She holds onto his hand and skates, slowly, with him around the rink a few times until he becomes more comfortable. By the time they're on their fifth lap, he's no longer holding her hand and he seems to have a pretty decent handle on the skates.

"This isn't so bad now," he admits, his arms out at his sides every few seconds to keep his balance. "I still have no idea how you do any of that fancy stuff, but the skating alone isn't all that hard."

Kate chuckles. "See, it's not nearly as hard as you were making it seem."

They do a few more laps before he takes a break against one of the boards. "Go show off, do one of your jumps or twirls," he says, looking at her. "Please? I love them. You're so good at them."

She narrows her eyes. "I can't tell if you just want to watch me skate away or if you genuinely want to see a jump."

"The leggings are a small factor in my request," he says, waggling his brows. She rolls her eyes. "But I do want to see a jump. I've never watched one from the ice before, Kate!"

"You're a child," she mutters.

"If I was a child—"

Clasping her palm over his mouth, she shakes her head. "No. Do us both a favor and do not say whatever it is you were going to say."

With her hand still covering his mouth he nods, says nothing as she slowly retracts her palm and moves to skate away. He grins and she merely shakes her head once again.

She skates a few circles as she decides what to do. In the end, she decides on a triple lutz. The lutz is one of the first jumps she learned how to do, and it's still one of her favorites.

Skating backwards on the outside edge of her left blade, she takes a deep breath. Her right leg lifts behind her at the same time, and both of her arms spread open, her left one out straight and the right one stretching behind her to mimic the movement of that leg. Once she's picked up enough momentum, she digs her right toe pick into the ice and vaults herself into the air, her body rotating to the left as she spins three times. Her arms come together at her chest mid air, opening once again as she descends and lands on the outside edge of her right blade.

Grinning at the perfect landing, her arms remain spread open as she lets herself slide out of the dismount and glide slowly to a stop.

Rick's beaming at her from the other side of the rink and she skates over, stopping once she's in front of him.

"Good enough?" she teases, rubbing her gloved hands together.

"You're incredible."

The sincerity in his voice brings a warmth to her skin; she doesn't understand how he's constantly in awe, but she supposes maybe she does. She feels the same way about him.

Stepping into him, she presses a kiss to his lips. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Mm, you're just saying that."

Kate hums, pretends to think it over before looking up at him with soft eyes. "No, you are pretty wonderful," she decides, resting her forehead against his chest.

They stand there for a few minutes before finally pulling apart. She grabs his hand and looks to him for a nod of confirmation before she starts off again, slowly making her way around the rink with him.

"How much longer do you have?" she asks on their third lap.

The _Dancing with the Stars_ tour is in full swing, and it has two stops in New York, tonight and tomorrow night, so at least she'll get to see him for a bit. It's not for long; he'll be all over the United States before finally finishing back off on the West Coast in a few weeks. Of course, mid-way through his tour, she's poised to start on the _Artistry on Ice_ tour herself.

It's only two months, though; a few dates here and there, nothing too extensive. In the aftermath of her second win she's decided she's going to take some much needed downtime.

Rick glances down at his watch. "About an hour before rehearsal starts."

"I really wish you could stay."

Sighing, he squeezes her hand. "Me too. But I'll see you tonight at the show."

Four years of long distance has been tough. They fly out to each other's respective coasts as often as they can, but it's never for long enough, the trips cut short by obligations on either side.

She can't just leave New York, not yet, and she doesn't expect him to ditch _Dancing with the Stars_ to follow her cross country.

Kate hasn't admit it out loud, not to Rick and certainly not to herself, but wondering about where to go from here, what their arrangements are going to be a few months or years in the future, sends her thoughts into over-drive.

"Stop thinking," he tells her, pressing a gentle finger against her temple.

She huffs. "Sometimes it just _sucks_ , you know. Both of us on tour, dates hardly lining up, barely enough time to see each other before one of us is flying somewhere else. You'll be finished with _Dancing with the Stars_ in a few weeks, and I'll just be getting started with mine..."

"It does suck," he agrees, squeezing her shoulder. "But you know I love that you're going to be a part of the tour. It's just one more opportunity to show the country how beautiful you are."

"I know," she breathes.

Shakily, he pulls the both of them to a stop. "And you know I'd never ask you to stop, right? I miss you when we're both in different parts of the country, so much, but I knew it'd be a lot of long distance when we started this. We've been doing pretty well so far, don't you think?"

"I know you aren't asking me to," she promises, bracing her hands against his sweater-clad chest. "I love you for it."

"This is your thing."

She nods. "Just like the _Dancing with the Stars_ tour is your thing," she acknowledges. "And I love it; you're phenomenal, Rick, so is the rest of the cast. It's just hard."

"I know," he chuckles, tugging her into her chest. "We're one hell of a pair, aren't we?"

"Wouldn't change a thing, though."

Pressing a kiss to her head, he hums. "Never. And I know you're worrying about something, so we'll talk about it later, okay?" She tenses a little, both loves and hates how well he can read her, but merely nods against his chest. "I'll come over after the show."

"Mm, pretty presumptuous of you, no?"

"Why Katherine Beckett, I never insinuated we'd be doing anything other than talking."

Kate merely smirks, eventually dislodges herself from his arms and skates a few feet away, turns to face him. "Come on, Bambi," she says, grin still on her face as she takes off, leaving Rick to stand in place with a look of shock on his face.

"Hey, no fair!"

"All's fair in love and war," she yells from the distance.

Rick grumbles. "Who said anything about _war?_ " Kate's still zooming around the rink, and so he finally starts moving, shuffling as quickly as he can without falling. "Come on, Kate, this isn't fair!"

Her laughter brings a smile to his face even as he trips on his toe pick and tumbles to the ice.

* * *

Kate smiles as she waves goodbye to a few of the other pro dancers, watches them file out of the building and into cabs to take them to their hotel for the night.

"You guys were great," she says, leaning into Rick's side, her arm looped in his. "Tonight's show had some real... _pizzazz_."

Rick chuckles. "Pizzazz? That's what you're going with?"

"For the moment, yes."

Opening the car door, he ushers her into the passenger seat, away from the bite of the cold winter's air, and makes his way to the driver's side.

"What would you call it?" she inquires once he's inside, key turning in the ignition.

He pauses. "It was very... _lively_ , I'd say."

Each show has its moments, but the audience portion of the show is truly what sets the tone for each night. It's never bad, no, just varying levels of amusing. They have two female pros and two male pros, to be rotated out at each show, bring up a member of the audience to dance with. They get a choice of dance styles, displayed on the large backdrop behind the stage, and the pros will consult with them for a few minutes on mini routines for them to perform.

Gangnam Style, Cha Cha, Tango, and Waltz are just a few examples of potential choices.

At the New Jersey show, Rick was partnered with a sweet older woman to dance a Rumba and she'd enjoyed it, to say the least. She'd clutched at him, embraced him tightly, and it was an experience and a half. Very kind woman. _Should I be worried about the competition_ , Kate had teased when he'd told her, thoroughly entertained.

Tonight, however, he was not paired with someone and it was Artem, another pro—a heart throb of a Russian—who was paired with a young woman who spent the entire Tango grinding on him, and then jumping into his arms as soon as it ended.

The pros are always good sports about it, get a laugh out of the experiences.

"Should bring you on stage," Rick muses, to which she snorts.

"Mm," she hums after a moment. "Maybe dancing with another pro would be fun."

"Hey!"

Kate grins, rubs a hand on his forearm. "Aw, is someone jealous?"

"Not _jealous_ , but definitely rethinking that idea."

"You know I'm only interested in dancing with you," she promises, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He looks at her, pleased, mouth open in a retort before she cuts him off with a gentle hand to his face.

"Eyes on the road, buddy."

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what had you so thoughtful this morning at the rink?"

Kate settles in her bed, wriggling her feet against the comforter as she leans against the headboard. She watches as Rick sets his overnight bag onto the floor, kicks his shoes off and makes his way towards her.

Having him stay with her instead of in the hotel with the rest of the cast was her idea, though she knows he's not complaining.

"It's silly."

Her eyes fall closed for a few seconds, peel open when she feels the bed dip under his weight. Turning her head, she finds him leaning on his side, looking at her.

"I doubt that," he counters, a hand resting on her knee. "Come on, what is it?"

She takes a breath. "Nothing, I'm just... we've been doing this long distance thing for a few years now, and... I don't know. I love it, and you, but—"

"Are you having second thoughts?"

Her eyes fly to his. "What? No, god no," she promises, shaking her head. "Not at all."

Rick visibly relaxes and gives an encouraging nod in response, remains quiet and waits her out. He knows she'll continue when she's ready.

"I guess I'm just wondering where we'll go from here. I mean, obviously I'll be on tour and you're still _on_ tour, but what about after? I haven't decided if I'm going out for the 2014 Olympics yet, but you still have _Dancing with the Stars_ and California is your home. I can't expect you to leave it, and I don't really feel ready to leave New York, but we can't really do the back and forth forever, you know?"

When she finally takes a breath, she glances up at him, almost surprised to find the dopey smile plastered on his face.

"Forever, huh?"

Tongue peeking from between her teeth, she rolls her eyes. " _That's_ what you picked up on?"

"And the other stuff too," he insists. He snakes a hand beneath her back, grabs at her ribs and tugs her into his chest. "But that's important. Forever?"

"It's what I'm hoping for, yeah. Why, you got other plans?" she teases.

Rick grins. "No other plans," he says, and she hums in approval. "In all seriousness, I agree. We obviously wouldn't do this forever, and I would never ask you to leave New York."

Sighing, she trails her fingers over his forearm. "So where does that leave us?"

"I wouldn't say California's my home."

"Rick, you live there—"

"I do," he agrees, wiggling to get more comfortable. "But I've never really considered it my _home_. I grew up in New York, you know. My mother still lives there."

Kate gives a small nod. She does know; it was one of the first things they truly bonded over, after she got over the whole 'I don't know what I'm doing on this show' fiasco. But that doesn't mean anything. He's lived in California for years, and she has a hard time believing he'd just be able to pick up and leave.

"I'd never ask you to follow me back across the country, Rick. You have the show, and California is _full_ of opportunities for you."

"California doesn't have you."

He says it so casually, so quickly, as if it's nothing. As if it's the most obvious thing in the world. It has her heart swelling in her chest, her mouth going dry because even after four years she's still caught off guard by this man, by every wonderful piece of him.

Leaning up, she presses a kiss to his jaw.

"Look, I'm not saying we have to do anything right now," Rick continues, easing her head to his chest, fingers running through her hair. "I'm signed on for the next year with _Dancing with the Stars_ , but we'll take it as it comes, okay? I'm not worried about us."

She murmurs an acknowledgement and burrows deeper into his embrace, allows the steady beat of his heart to lull her into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

 _2012_

"I think our parents have been colluding behind our backs."

Kate huffs a laugh, turning to her boyfriend. "And what makes you say that?"

"Well, it might be my gut feeling, or it might be the fact that my mother opened a conversation with, 'So, Darling, Johanna and I have been talking...'"

Throwing the last of her clothes into the closet, now successfully unpacked, she stalks up to him, palms braced on his chest. "Do I want to know what they were conspiring about?"

"I blocked most of it out, but if what I gathered was correct, they're wondering when we're going to give them grandchildren because, and I quote, 'I'm getting old, Richard.'"

Kate's chuckle is muffled against his shirt, but she pulls back and pats his cheek. "I'm sorry," she says, but the grin on her face says otherwise. "I shouldn't have let you get interrogated by yourself."

" _Thank_ you," he huffs.

She was supposed to go with him to meet his mother for lunch, but she'd gotten a call from a news station; she's been fairly quiet in recent months, and with all of her fellow athletes announcing their returns for 2014 they want the exclusive with her.

Rick had waved her off, mouthed for her to continue and meet up with him at home later.

After his spring season with _Dancing with the Stars_ he'd announced that it would be his last, instead opting to move back to New York with Kate. She was worried he was doing it solely because of the conversation they'd had many months prior, but he assured her he was considering it even beforehand. It may be a little cramped in her apartment, at least until they find another place, but it feels _right_.

"Sorry, babe."

Pressing a kiss to her lips, he gives an exaggerated sigh. "I forgive you."

"Good."

* * *

Three weeks later, Kate arrives at the news station for the interview they'd set up. She feels almost overdressed in her black pantsuit, but she didn't want to show up in her usual leggings and training outfit.

"Kate, hi," the woman greets with a smile. "I'm glad you could make it."

She gives a polite smile, a nod. "Thanks for having me."

"You've been pretty tight-lipped in recent months about your plans for the next Olympic season, but with announcements coming out left and right I just _had_ to get an interview with you."

Kate laughs. "It's been quite the journey."

"And I can't wait to hear about it," the woman says. She gestures behind her to a pair of chairs. "Please, sit. We'll get started in just a minute."

When everything's ready, hair and makeup touched up in a whirlwind of five minutes, the interviewer sits across from her, wide smile on her face as the cameras start rolling.

"I'm here with figure skater and two time Olympic gold medalist Kate Beckett, and today we're going to get an _exclusive_ look into her plans for the upcoming Olympic run." She turns to Kate, the camera pans. "Kate, how are you? It's wonderful to have you here."

"I'm good, thank you. It's good to be here."

"Now, Kate, with two gold medals under your belt, does that make you strive for a third? Or does it feel like there's nowhere to go from here?"

Clearing her throat, she offers a small smile. "I wouldn't say there's nowhere to go from here, but it does feel something like closure. Gold is the dream, the goal, for any athlete competing, so of course you feel on top of the world for a while." She pauses. "I wouldn't say the _gold_ makes me want to keep going, but you always want to be better than your last program, you know?"

"Once you have it, you want to keep it."

"Something like that, yeah," Kate agrees on a nod.

"Now, I have to ask what we're _all_ wondering. You've remained fairly quiet about the 2014 Olympics since your win, so I have to know—are you coming back to reclaim your title?"

The interviewer leans forward in her chair, like she's about to be on the receiving end of the year's best gossip, and Kate has to bite back a laugh.

She's thought over her decision for months, debated back and forth about doing one more Olympic run, but eventually the temptation of skating for _fun_ and not for scores won out. The past week, however, has solidified her choice in a way that she didn't expect.

With a practiced smile, she gives a slow nod, as if to reassure herself. "I've uh, I've decided to sit this season out, actually."

The interviewer, bless her, looks shocked. "Oh wow; that's quite the game-changer," she says. Is it really, though? There are plenty of other skaters, namely up-and-coming skaters, who will do just fine in her absence. "What made you decide that?"

"I've been training and skating non-stop for most of my life," Kate starts, wringing her hands in her lap, off-camera. "Right now I'm content with my two wins, and I feel it's the right time to take a break. I have some other things I need to focus on."

Despite the interviewer's best attempts, Kate doesn't reveal what those other things are. Instead, she politely declines to talk about them at this time.

"Is this the last we'll see of Kate Beckett? Are you done with skating?"

Kate shakes her head. "Of course not. I'll never be done with skating; it's too big a part of my life. I'm just... putting my competitive skates on the shelf for a while."

When the interview ends, the woman shakes her hand and wishes her the best.

She feels lighter, oddly, finally having said the decision out loud. Now it's real.

* * *

Rick's waiting for her when she gets home, his legs propped up on the coffee table as he sits on the couch.

"You looked beautiful," he says when she bends into his hug.

"I feel like a fed." Rick laughs. "I'll get changed and then we can relax, watch a movie?"

She pads into the bedroom, her heart in her throat. She's kept a lid on her emotions throughout the entire interview and for that she's proud. For the entire week, really, because she's been going a little out of her mind.

Peeling out of her suit, she throws on a pair of sweats and a plain white t-shirt. Throwing her hair into a messy bun, she stops to stare at her reflection. She takes a deep breath, eyes slipping closed for a few seconds.

Rick knew before the announcement that she's decided to take time off, but she hasn't told him the definite reason _why_ yet. As much as she wanted to blurt it out, on camera for him to watch from home wasn't at all the right moment.

"You okay?" he asks after she's settled in beside him. "I know that must've been a hard decision for you."

Nodding, she exhales. "I'm okay. It'll be a change, but... some changes are good."

"You know I'm behind you," he promises, and she relaxes against him. His lips curl into a grin. "So, you gonna share with me what other things you have to focus on? You have some super secret projects going on behind the scenes?"

This is it; she was wondering if he'd catch that. Of course he did.

She pulls away from his embrace, props herself up so she's looking at him. She doesn't say anything for a minute, just takes him in, tries to gauge what his reaction will be.

She must stare too long because his brows knit together, and a hand comes to rest on her bicep. "Hey, everything all right?"

Blinking, she nods. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just..."

"You're not about to tell me you have a secret double life, are you? That you need to spend some time focusing on your husband Pierre?"

Kate barks a laugh, shakes her head. "You're ridiculous. Pierre isn't my husband, he's my second boyfriend."

"Kate," Rick grumbles, a small whine accompanying it.

When her mouth opens it just comes spilling out. "I need to focus on my family."

His face sobers. "Are your parents okay?"

"What? No, they're fine," she promises. Okay, take two. " _Our_ family, Rick. I need to focus on our family."

It takes him a minute but she notices the moment realization strikes. His eyes widen, and she's thrilled to see the beginnings of a splitting grin take over his face, restrained as if he doesn't want to get his hopes up in case he's wrong.

"Kate..."

His eyes dart from hers down to her stomach and back. Her lips curl at the corners and she gives him a nod. "I'm pregnant."

Rick's smile widens, crinkles forming around his eyes as his palms immediately slide down her ribs to cover her stomach. Fingers splayed over her skin, still flat, he looks up at her in awe.

Without removing his hands from where his child, _their_ child rests, he leans up to smear a kiss to her lips. "I love you, Kate. So much."

"I love you too," she sighs into the kiss.

"Our parents are going to be _thrilled_."

* * *

 _2014_

Their two year old propped on her hip, Kate walks through the doors of Rick's dance studio. It's been open for a little over a year now, and though it's still getting started she's so proud of everything he's managed to accomplish. When he left _Dancing with the Stars_ he always said he wanted to run a studio and offer classes, and while it's hard with a small child, he's made it work.

"You ready to see daddy?" she whispers to their daughter, smoothing a thumb along her cheek.

Ella lights up, bouncing enthusiastically in her arms. "Da'ee!"

Kate leans in close. "Yeah, El, daddy. He's right through there," she tells her, pointing to the wooden doors a few feet away. It's the main studio where Rick holds most of his lessons; it should be over by now, just the last few lingering students, but Kate doesn't think he'll mind the surprise visit.

Upon opening the door she finds Rick immediately, standing at the far end of the studio with two of the dancers.

"Da'ee!" Ella yells happily, wriggling from Kate's grasp.

Rick turns just in time to catch his daughter toddling, a little wildly, over to him. He bends down and opens his arms, catches the speed demon as she collides with his chest, arms wrapping around his neck.

"Hi, peanut," he beams, smothering her face in kisses as he stands. Kate, who's wandered over to join the two, can't hold back her smile at the giggles their daughter erupts into. He greets her with a kiss of her own. "What are you two doing here?"

"Thought we'd surprise you," she says, reaching over to tickle Ella's tummy. "Didn't we?"

Ella nods, looking between both of her parents. She's the perfect blend of them; Rick's piercing blue eyes, Kate's brown curls and cute little nose. She has her father's imagination and her mother's drive. Ella Castle is a spitfire, and they're both in for one hell of a ride once she hits her teenage years.

"The best surprise."

Kate greets his students, whom she's met a few times before, as they make their departure. Kate hangs back while Rick runs around the studio with Ella. It's one of their usual routines; he pretends he can't catch up to her until he does, and then he lifts her into the air and blows on her stomach. Ella loves it.

Once she's sufficiently tired out, Rick carries her into the lounge area so they can all relax. He has another class in about an hour, but Kate figures she and Ella will stick around until then.

"I assume she didn't nap before?" Rick asks, looking down to where Ella's curled in a ball, head resting on Kate's thighs.

She runs her palm over the girls head, brushing her hair from her forehead. "No. I made the mistake of telling her we were visiting you and she got so excited she refused to sleep."

Rick grins. "That's my girl."

"Such a daddy's girl," Kate laughs. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

"Has since the day she was born."

It's true, for the both of them. They've been captivated from the second they laid eyes on her, red and screaming and perfect. _Theirs_.

Rick turns on the television, and she'd almost forgotten that the Olympics were happening already. Almost, because she's had her hands full, but she still talks to her skating friends. She's wished them all luck and promised to reach out after the games are over.

They watch together, enthralled by the programs, and Kate only feels a pang of sadness. Not regret, no, because she had decided to sit this round out even before she knew about Ella, but it is weird. Every year she's been a part of the competitions, be it Worlds or the Olympics, and so watching from the sidelines is new for her.

"You would look beautiful out there, you know," Rick tells her. "Leave them all in the dust."

He tacks on a low comment about _how the little dresses are his favorite_ , and she chooses to ignore it, chuckles instead. Although not competing is a new experience for her, with Rick by her side and their daughter asleep across their laps, she's content.

Her eyes break away from the screen to meet his.

"Maybe, but I'm exactly where I want to be."

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm so very sorry for the delay on this one! Between Thanksgiving and being in the final weeks of the semester, everything's just been unusually busy and extremely stressful.

Thank you all so much for all of your patience and support with this little AU, it's been greatly appreciated. You're all wonderful.

Until next time.


End file.
